


won't go down easy

by dustofwarfare



Series: Imperative [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Collars, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Kink, M/M, Multi, Poly V, Polyamory, Post-Canon, alternate universe - d/s verse, background Lysithea/Edelgard, background M!Byleth/Jeritza, biological imperative kink, complicated feelings about war, dom!claude, references to canon character death, sub!felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 110,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: “How long since you’ve had what you need?” Claude asks.Felix still won’t look at him, but his jaw is so tight it looks like it might break. “A while. Before the war ended.”Before the --what? “The war’s been over for almost a year.” He’s never heard of a submissive going that long without it, especially in times of stress.----In which Emperor Edelgard sends Felix Fraldarius -- former Faerghus noble, apparent political prisoner, and very high-strung submissive -- to Almyra.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: Imperative [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654516
Comments: 437
Kudos: 642
Collections: DS-Verse FE3H Fics





	1. gift

**Author's Note:**

> This is a d/s-verse fic, in which everyone is naturally dominant or submissive. There are nuances but that's the gist. **This is high kink fantasy and it is not intended to be read as a realistic examination of kink dynamics.**
> 
> While I've made it pretty clear there's consent here in all pairings, **this fic and others in this 'verse are predicated on the idea there's a biological imperative to fulfill dominance/submission urges** (including some sadism/masochism) and might trip some sensitivities because of it. It's not intended to be either dub-con or non-con, so it's not tagged that way, but if you're sensitive to the whole "biological need to submit/dominate" thing, I did want to mention it. 
> 
> This fic is set in what is technically a Crimson Flower route ending where no one was recruited and Claude survives at Derdriu -- most of the students survive, too. There's an actual plot, so I don't want to give too much away about why that happens.

“Well,” Claude says, as politely as he can manage, “I certainly wasn’t expecting Emperor Edelgard to send me such an, ah, interesting gift. I was only planning to send some spices and maybe some silk.” 

The imperial messenger -- not someone Claude knows -- bows politely, his eyes respectfully cast downward. His collar isn’t Edelgard’s but it _does_ mark him as a submissive in service to the Empire. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I am sure it will be appreciated.” 

“In the meantime, please take some time to rest from your journey.” Claude glances over at one of his guards and gives a slight nod. Almyrans don't typically collar their submissives, which is probably only one of a thousand things they do differently here than in Fodlan. “Show him some halfway decent hospitality,” he says in Almyran. “Not good enough that they’ll keep coming back, though.” 

The guard, Emir, snorts and walks over to Edelgard’s messenger. He gives a sharp nod and says, in the Fodlan tongue, “Follow me.” 

The messenger bows to Claude once more and leaves. When he’s gone, Claude turns to finally examine the man sent to Almyra from Edelgard. 

He’s wearing a collar, but it’s a practical one; heavy thick silver and with a loop for the chains keeping his hands behind his back. He has inky dark hair and a haughty face, and despite the fact Claude hasn’t seen him in almost six years, he knows who he is. 

“Hey, Felix,” he says, smiling. “Been a while.” 

Felix Fraldarius glares through the strands of his hair. He manages to meet Claude’s eyes for a few seconds before glancing away -- enough for Claude to understand a few things about his new guest. “Von Riegan.” 

Claude sighs, irrationally annoyed at the sight of the former Kingdom noble in chains even though he has no idea what Felix has done to get himself trussed up and dropped on Claude’s doorstep. “Let’s get you out of those chains and have a conversation, shall we?" 

Felix, predictably, just glares at the floor, silent. 

***

Felix is quiet while Claude sets about releasing him from his various chains and cuffs. It doesn’t take long -- Edelgard included the key in her letter, which simply read _please accept this soldier on behalf of the Empire of Fodlan. We are committed to fostering a peaceful relationship with Almyra and sending him to you is not intended as a sign of disrespect. We understand that valiant warriors are an asset, and while his kingdom lost the war, it cannot be said that he is not as fierce a warrior as there is in all of Fodlan. The chains and collar are intended for his safety - he is no danger to you._

_Regards,_

_Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg_

The letter itself is a puzzle to be deciphered later, but a few things stand out; one, that Felix has apparently been in Enbarr (instead of dead, as Claude assumed someone close to Dimitri Blaiddyd would be), and two, he’s apparently a fierce warrior who isn’t a danger to anyone, which is a completely contradictory statement as far as Claude is concerned. 

“I thought you were dead,” Claude says, once he’s released Felix from the heavy collar and cuffs. They’re both thick silver but neither have left a single mark, meaning they weren’t meant to cause discomfort. It’s not entirely a good thing -- Claude doesn’t know Felix very well, but he isn’t sure that Felix wouldn’t have _preferred_ discomfort. “Good to see I was wrong.” 

“Why?” His voice is harsh as those miserable Fodlan winters that Claude doesn’t miss. 

“Call it sentimentality,” Claude says, shrugging. “Enough old friends died.” 

“We were never friends,” Felix snarls. He reaches up and touches his neck, briefly. Like maybe he misses the weight of the collar. 

“Have you been hurt?” Claude asks, in the same easygoing tone he always had at the academy. 

“No,” says Felix. His jaw is tense, his shoulders tight. 

It might just be Claude’s imagination, but does Felix sound a little put-out about that? Even _more_ interesting. “Want to tell me what happened, then?” 

If anything, Claude’s attempt at his old familiar charm only makes Felix _more_ tense. “We lost the war.” 

Claude sighs. Far be it from him to criticize a gift someone gives him, but aren’t presents supposed to be useful, or enjoyable? Felix is like a puffed up, angry cat, one second away from hissing at swiping at Claude with claws. That in itself isn’t a problem, per se, but he needs to know what he’s dealing with and Felix is guarding the truth of his circumstances like a state secret. 

Nothing to be done for it, then. Claude uses the voice he deliberately _never_ used at the academy; the one imbued with the dominance of a king meant to rule a kingdom, not just a duke set to inherit a council of squabbling nobles. 

Claude reaches out and tips Felix’s chin up with two fingers. “Tell me what happened.” 

If Claude had any doubt Felix was a submissive, it vanishes the second he sees the way Felix responds. Not in words, at least not right away; but in the way his shoulders drop, some of the tension he’s carrying in his lean frame relaxing immediately. He even takes a breath, in and out, and those bright amber eyes of his meet Claude’s for just a half second before he lowers his gaze to the floor. 

_He’s desperate for this,_ Claude thinks. _Wherever he’s been in Enbarr they haven’t mistreated him, at least not physically. But he hasn’t submitted to anyone and it shows._

“My father fell at Arianrhod,” Felix says, slowly. “I was supposed to leave Fraldarius territory with the few remaining battalions he left with me. I refused.” 

Claude tilts his head, considering this information. “Are you telling me that you _didn’t_ fight in the war?” 

“I fought the only war that mattered! The one against imperial troops in the territory my family was responsible for, not run after Dimitri’s ghosts!” Felix lights up at that, going tense and angry again and making it clear just how badly he needs to be put in his place. 

Claude certainly would _not_ mind putting him there, that’s for sure. But now isn’t the time. “You stayed in Fraldarius instead of marching to Arianrhod. I’m surprised your father allowed it.” 

Felix gives a harsh laugh. “He couldn’t make me. He was in Fhirdiad when the marching orders came. I simply refused to join him.” 

Claude’s almost impressed. It would have been difficult for Felix to resist an order from his father _and_ his king -- both of whom were dominants. “Go on.” 

“What else is there to say?” Felix snaps. “When the Imperial army marched on Fhirdiad, I chose to stay in Fraldarius and keep innocent people safe instead of fighting a war we we all knew we were going to lose.” Felix’s eyes narrow. “Which we did. Just like you and your Alliance at Derdriu. _You_ didn’t come back, either.” 

Claude lets that go without comment. His gamble at Derdriu had been calculated and risky, but in hindsight, he’s almost certain that it’d been the best possible outcome for both himself and his goals. Edelgard’s ideals weren’t that far off from his own, and Dimitri...well. It wasn’t just Dimitri’s ghosts and thirst for vengeance driving him, but Rhea and the Church of Seiros. Claude can’t say he’s all that unhappy that Edelgard won, though he does regret that he couldn't have, somehow, saved Dimitri in the end. Hopefully he was at peace, now, however that worked for the souls of the departed in Faerghus. 

“How did you end up in Enbarr?” 

Felix takes another deep breath, fingers clenching and unclenching. “After Fhirdiad fell, Edelgard sent her own people to reorganize Faerghus. I gave up my claim on my family’s land for her promise the people who fought against her, for me or for my father, wouldn’t be punished.” 

Huh. Claude thinks about this. “So you gave up your title to keep your people safe?” 

Felix scowls, as if Claude was accusing him of something nefarious instead of simply stating a fact. “I was a second son. I was never meant to rule.” 

There’s something nagging at him about this, as much as it makes a certain kind of sense; Felix always had been outspoken when it came to ideas of knighthood and chivalry, but _not_ when it came to protecting people who needed it. That, along with whatever motivated his dislike for Dimitri, made it not unlikely to think that Felix would choose safeguarding his territory over following his angry, embittered king to war. 

The thing Claude doesn’t understand is how Felix ended up a political prisoner -- wouldn’t Edelgard have found Felix’s dedication admirable and in keeping with the society she was trying to create? After all, Felix had opted to ignore his noble blood and even his very _nature_ by refusing to heed the orders of his father and king in order to protect innocent people. Wasn’t that her whole plan for the rest of Fodlan, to do the same? 

Something isn’t right about this, but all Claude says is, “I’m assuming you were treated well?” Felix looks tired, eyes shadowed, and a little haggard from the trip...but he’s in good health, overall. Physically, at least.

“Well enough.” He doesn’t elaborate. 

Claude nods. He thinks for a moment, then asks, “Do you want to go back to Fraldarius?” 

“What if I did? Would you let me?” Felix challenges, and oh, he’s practically _begging_ to be put on his knees, isn’t he? 

“I don’t know. We can talk about it.” He eases his tone back from the edge of commanding to something friendlier, more encouraging. If he’s right, and Claude usually is, Felix is going to find it more _frustrating_ than comforting. “First, are you hungry? Thirsty?” 

“I’m _fine_.” 

Claude grins at him, but Felix is staring at the floor and doesn’t see. “I’m starting to think maybe she sent you here just because you pissed her off with your attitude problem.” 

“Probably,” says Felix, and Claude huffs out a laugh. 

Claude decides that he’s gotten about all he’s going to get out Felix on this subject -- for now. Claude takes in the way Felix is standing, arms crossed, chin defiant, staring off somewhere across the room and practically vibrating with tension and unsatisfied need. “Look, I’m just going to ask this outright...did they not see to you, at all, in Enbarr?” 

Two bright spots of color appear on Felix’s pale face, and at least he doesn’t pretend not to understand what Claude is asking him. “They -- offered. I refused.” 

“Why?” 

Felix doesn’t want to answer, it’s obvious. Claude decides to throw him a bone. He steps closer, notices how Felix draws in a sharp breath through his nose but doesn’t move away. Claude reaches out toward him, and Felix doesn’t try and stop him from getting a handful of his messy dark hair. 

“Tell me why you refused, and I’ll put you on your knees.” 

“Fuck you,” Felix hisses, but he’s breathing so fast he’s almost panting. “I didn’t want her pity and I don’t want yours, either.” 

“You told _her_ no?” Claude laughs outright and tightens his grip in Felix’s hair. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe that.” Even _Claude_ would have a hard time doing that, and he’s a king _and_ a dominant. 

“No, not _her_. She sent one of her lackeys.” Felix is visibly trembling now, defiant and needy. “You think I’ll get on my knees for just anyone? I’ve been dealing with this my entire life, von Riegan. I’m not going to submit because some asshole wearing her collar tells me to.” 

“It wasn’t von Vestra, was it?” Claude can’t imagine that, but as far as he knows Hubert is the only one who wears Edelgard’s collar. Not the generic imperial one like the messenger that brought Felix, but her _actual_ collar. 

Felix scoffs. “Hubert’s no dominant. No, the other one. Von Aegir.” 

Ferdinand wore Edelgard’s collar? Interesting. That must be a new development. He’ll have to discuss this with Hilda. She might mock him for his penchant for gossip, but she likes it just as much as he does. “She’s collared both her ministers? Interesting. And that’s the only person they sent to you?” 

“Yes.” 

“How long since you’ve had what you need?” Claude asks. 

Felix still won’t look at him, but his jaw is so tight it looks like it might break. “A while. Before the war ended.” 

Before the -- _what_? “The war’s been over for almost a year.” He’s never heard of a submissive going that long without it, especially in times of stress.

Claude lets go of Felix’s hair, and Felix -- the noise he makes would have been a whine, maybe, if he’d let himself make it. He’s shaking like he’s going to fall apart, and Claude lets himself enjoy it for a few deliciously long seconds, builds up the anticipation and feels a low thrum of pleasure at how pretty Felix is when he’s suffering, needy and refusing to bend. 

Maybe Edelgard _did_ send him a present he’s supposed to enjoy. That doesn’t make Claude less suspicious of her motives (it makes him _more_ suspicious, if he’s honest), but at least it’s something. 

“When I tell you to get on your knees, you’ll do it.” 

It’s not a question, but Felix answers anyway. “Yes.” He sounds annoyed, but no matter. 

Claude takes his time, walks around so he’s standing behind Felix and puts his hand lightly around the back of Felix’s neck. He doesn’t grab or squeeze or even push. “On your knees.” 

Felix hits the floor so fast it’s dizzying to watch, his hands on his thighs. In the hushed quiet of the room his breathing starts to even out, and his trembling eases slightly as he bows his head.

Claude appreciates the sight Felix makes submitting to him, feeling the natural exchange of power between them. He puts his hand on Felix’s head -- not pulling his hair or pushing, just resting it there. “Stay there. Breathe for me, okay? I’m going to get you something to eat, some water.” 

He pats Felix on the head, then goes to leave the room. He knows Felix isn’t going anywhere. 


	2. say please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude and Hilda banter, and then Claude gives Felix what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot, and WILL not, resist writing Claude and Hilda bantering if I can get away with it.

“Oh, Goddess, are you serious?” Hilda nearly falls off the bed laughing. “She sent you _Felix Fraldarius_ ? Like. The guy who was so cranky, he didn’t even like _cake_?” 

Claude shakes his head. He can’t help smiling at Hilda, her pink hair all done up in traditional Almyran braids, clad in riding leathers, rolling around laughing on their bed. 

“Did you like, piss her off or something?” 

“Funnily enough,” Claude says, “that’s the same thing I asked Felix.” 

“I don’t get it, though.” Hilda stops laughing, her cute nose wrinkling. “Why send him to _you_?” 

“Still trying to figure that part out. You know I can’t resist a good mystery.” 

Hilda is gifted at epic eye rolls that could be, possibly, seen all the way back at Garreg Mach. “You can’t resist a lot of things. Mysteries, schemes, gossip, pretty submissive boys with bad attitudes --” 

“Hey!” 

“What, like I’m wrong?” She sticks her tongue out at him. “I’m so glad that _my_ girl is beautiful, sweet _and_ has the good sense to like cake like a normal person.” She pats the bed next to her. “Come tell me how you made him kneel again, though. _Hot_.” 

Claude goes and sits next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close for a kiss. “Speaking of gossip, did you know Edelgard collared Hubert _and_ Ferdinand?” 

“Duh, Claude. Everyone knows that.” She gives him an utterly unimpressed look. “Where is he now?” 

“Ferdinand? Probably brushing his hair and telling everyone what to do, why?” 

She elbows him in the side, and Hilda has _very_ pointy elbows. “Ha, ha. You know who I meant.” 

“I put him in my old room,” Claude says, before she can ask, “And yes, it’s guarded, don’t worry. But I really don’t think he was sent here to kill me.” 

“You’re sure about that?” Hilda rests her head briefly on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t trust Edelgard, like, at _all._ Remember, I _dated_ her before she took over the whole world.” 

“You dated for, what? A hot minute? When we were teenagers at the monastery?” 

“Yeah, it didn’t last, but look -- you try dating someone with _Hubert_ looming over you like some kind of ghoulish butler.” She shudders. “That, and honestly, we weren’t very compatible.” 

Claude snorts. “I’d say.” He flashes a grin at her. “I bet it was hot, though.” 

“Again, I repeat -- duh, Claude. It was _me_ , of course it was hot.” She squeezes his hand. “Seriously, though, what are you going to do with him? She can’t just send us her problem boys like they’re wyverns we need to train into good behavior.” 

“I mean,” Claude says, clearing his throat. “She _could_. I bet we could make that work. We are a pretty enterprising royal couple, Hilda.” 

“True, true.” She yawns, snuggling closer. “It’s dumb of me to worry she’s trying to get at you, but I’m protective. I will go right for that bitch’s head with my axe, I don’t give a _fuck_ how much big dick dom energy she has.” 

Claude slides off the bed, kneels in front of her and takes both her hands in his, gazing up at her with adoration. “Hilda. Marry me.” 

“I already _did_ , you idiot. Get up here, you know if someone sees you kneeling for me they’ll think your evil Fodlan queen is sucking out all your dom energy.” 

“Baby,” Claude says, very seriously, “You can suck whatever you want of mine, anytime.” 

Hilda pulls him up to kiss him. “Claude, I trust you but I don’t know if I’m ever going to trust her. You don’t say you’re changing the world then deliver political prisoner submissives to foreign kings as presents in _chains_ , even if...I mean, if I had to get you something, that’s not a bad idea for a present.”

Claude resettles next to her. He and Hilda married for a lot of reasons, some of which had to do with politics and some of which had to do with the fact they entertained the hell out of each other, but he’s forever glad that she said yes when he asked. 

There’s a soft knock at the door, and a quiet, “Hilda?” 

The concern on Hilda’s face melts into a soft smile. “Come in, baby!” 

Claude looks over as Marianne enters their room on quiet feet, smiling at Claude before blushing prettily and lowering her gaze as she makes her way toward them. She’s wearing a dress and Hilda’s collar (pink and sparkly, Hilda made it herself), and she sinks gracefully to her knees by Hilda’s side, on the pillow kept there for her. 

“Marianne,” Claude asks, “Did you know Felix very well, in school?” 

Marianne shakes her head. “No, not really. I wasn’t one for talking to very many people, especially outside our house. Is it true he’s here?” 

Claude throws his hands up in the air. “There are no secrets in this palace, are there?” This is a complete and utter lie, actually -- if Claude wanted to keep Felix a secret, he could.

Marianne says, very quickly, “I won’t tell anyone!” 

Claude immediately feels bad for teasing her, because Marianne is too pure for this world and he sometimes can’t quite believe she ended up with _him and Hilda_ , of all people. “It’s fine. And you’re part of the family, anyway.” He can see her smile when he says that -- and he’s glad, it’s taken her a little bit of time to believe that she’s here to stay. Collaring is not a tradition practiced in Almyra, and there had been some concern that their half-Fodlan king’s Fodlan-born wife collaring _another_ Fodlan native was going to overthrow the fabric of Almyran society or something. But Marianne found a place here, and for that, Claude is grateful. He likes being able to take care of his Golden Deer, when he can. 

Hilda won over the Almyrans by being both a badass on the battlefield _and_ the sister of Holst Goneril, who -- while conceptually being a longtime foe of many of them, had earned his fierce reputation by being at least a _worthy_ foe. Knowing she came from warrior stock, her undisputed status as a dominant and the fact she could ride a wyvern and swing an axe as fiercely as any one of them...it earned her the respect necessary to survive here, where nothing mattered more than your ability to prove yourself. 

“Leonie tricked him into falling in a pit, once, during training,” Marianne offers, her head on Hilda’s lap. 

“Oh, yeah, I remember that.” Claude leans back on his hands, grinning. “Good old Leonie. I wonder what she’s up to, lately?”

“She’s with Raphael and Ignatz at Raph’s family’s inn, last I heard,” Hilda says, playing with Marianne’s hair. “I think she scares patrons into paying their bar tabs.” 

“Maybe she uses those traps on them, if they don’t,” Claude says. 

“Or just yells at them,” Marianne offers. “She had a very loud voice.” 

“And yet, somehow, you’re wearing _Hilda’s_ collar,” says Claude, and laughs outright as Hilda flips him off over Marianne’s head. 

“Just be careful,” Hilda tells him, as Claude gets up off the bed. “Edelgard is as crafty as you are, Claude, though I can’t believe I just said that. If she sent you a former Faerghus noble, there’s definitely a reason.” 

“Maybe she sent him here because he has nowhere else to go,” Marianne says, quietly, before Claude can respond to that. 

“Maybe she sent him here because she knew that’s exactly what we’d think,” Hilda counters. 

Marianne peeks up at Hilda. “You could ask Lysithea. If there’s another reason he’s here, she might know.” 

Claude and Hilda share a look -- that is one secret only Marianne knows. “I don’t know if we want to play that card quite yet, but that’s good to keep in mind. I think I’ll start by asking Felix. I’m pretty sure I know how to get him to answer.” He’s not _too_ worried about Felix as a threat, but Claude didn’t survive and advance in the world by ignoring any possibility, no matter how faint. 

“She’d know that, too, though, wouldn’t she?” Hilda says, reasonably, beginning to undo the twists of Marianne’s hair. “Keep a submissive on edge and denied long enough, he’ll be so desperate even a lie might sound like the truth when he finally gets what he wants.” 

Claude stares at her a little terrified and a lot aroused by how her mind works. “I’m glad you’re on _my_ side, sweetheart, have I said that, lately?” 

“I’m frankly a little disturbed that _you_ didn’t think of that possibility before I brought it up.” Hilda waves a hand. “Go play with your new toy, Claude. Have fun. If you get all messy and think you’re getting in this bed without a bath first, you’re sleeping on the floor.” 

“Not on my pillow, though, please,” Marianne murmurs. 

“I’ll make a hellion out of you, yet, baby girl,” Hilda says, and beams. 

***

Claude leaves the two of them and heads to his old room, the one he slept in and snuck out of and foiled more than one assassination attempt during his formative years. The guard by the door gives him a nod, and Claude enters, immediately finding Felix standing by the window, staring out at the night-dark sky. 

“I thought maybe you’d be resting,” Claude says. “It’s a long trip here, from Enbarr.” 

“It’s too hot here to sleep,” says Felix, without turning around. 

“I’ll register your complaint.” Claude glances over toward the table where the food and drink he sent earlier is spread out, half-expecting to see it untouched. But it isn’t; the wine and sweets are untouched, but it’s clear Felix has eaten and had plenty of water. 

_He’ll be so desperate, even a lie might sound like the truth._

Hilda isn’t wrong about that, so...the plan here is clear. Claude needs to wait to ask his questions until Felix is so wrung-out from getting what he needs that he won’t be able to hold onto a lie even if he wants to. 

_Who’s devious_ now _, Hilda?_

Claude picks up one of the candied sweets and pops it in his mouth. “Do you want any more water?” 

“No.” 

Felix hasn’t turned away from the window, but he’s watching Claude’s reflection in the dark glass. He’s still tightly-wound, though from what Claude remembers from their time as classmates, he usually was. That little bit of play this afternoon wasn’t going to be nearly enough, if Felix has really gone that long without submitting like he needs. 

“Do you want more of what you had this afternoon?” Claude asks, because he’s reasonably sure he’ll get an honest answer to that. 

“Don’t ask me stupid questions. You already know the answer.” 

Claude’s eyebrows raise. So much for assumptions. “You are mouthy for a submissive. Especially one who’s so desperate to submit, I’m surprised every dominant in Almyra isn’t lined up in front of your door to help you out.” 

“Hmph.” Felix turns around and faces him, arms crossed over his chest. He’s fixed his hair so it’s pulled back into a topknot, but otherwise he looks the same as he had this afternoon when he’d arrived. “So. You’re the king.” 

“I am.” Claude smiles. There’s a little frisson of excitement at playing this game with someone who is clearly going to make him _earn it._ Claude gets most of his dominance urges settled by running the country and dealing with the occasional uprising or people who think he shouldn’t be king, and every now and again in bed because sometimes Hilda is just straight-up _lazy_. 

But liking it when Claude holds her down and rails her isn’t quite the same. Luckily, there are plenty of attractive submissives Claude can entertain for a night or two, though running a country and trying to make peace with your eternal enemy neighbors doesn’t leave a lot of time for such play. 

There’s something primal and _addictive_ about the way Felix _wants_ and yet is so determined to make Claude _earn_ it. It’s honestly one of the things missing in his occasional nights with his pretty Almyran subs -- they’re all a little too eager right from the beginning to satisfy their king. 

“Hmph,” Felix says, again. “Kept that a secret, didn’t you?” 

“I had my reasons.” Claude walks closer. “What about you? Are you keeping any secrets?” 

Felix doesn’t back up an inch, but he _does_ flicker his eyes down after one last sharp amber glare. “I’m no one’s king, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Claude wonders if Felix would just own up to the things that work for him, if Claude asks. He doubts it. Felix is contrary by nature, but also, Claude’s heard plenty of how submissives were viewed in his homeland. Like submission is a weakness, instead of a gift. “They don’t treat submissives well in Faerghus, do they? I heard something about that, when I came to the monastery.” 

“They don’t treat anyone well in Faerghus.” Felix is breathing too fast again. 

“Fair enough,” says Claude, still amazed that Felix has spent a year without satisfying the perfectly natural demands of his body. “I’d like you to actually answer my question. Do you want more, or am I supposed to just take the fact you’re panting for it _already_ as a ‘yes’?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, von Riegan,” Felix snarls, arms crossed so tightly around himself that it makes Claude wince in sympathy. “I’ve gone this long without it, I’ll live.” 

He is really committed to being a brat about this, isn’t he? Claude’s instincts are shouting at him to just go ahead and do it, and he _wants_ to, but perversely he wants to hear Felix ask him for it. Which, well, Claude’s nothing if not a tactician. 

Claude shifts his voice easily into the tone he knows Felix won’t be able to ignore -- and won’t _want_ to ignore, no matter how difficult he’s making this. “Take your hair down.” 

Felix doesn’t do it immediately, of course, because apparently that would be way too easy. He huffs and glares at something across the room for a good three or four seconds, but then he gives up and uncrosses his arms, reaches up and pulls the tie out of his hair. It’s longer than Claude thought it would be, and it’s -- well. _Pretty_ , though it seems like a strange word to use for Felix, all sharp angles and barbed as his favorite weapon. 

But it’s perfectly fitting regardless; Felix’s hair is dark as the ink Claude uses to sign all his letters, with a slight wave to it as if he put it up wet, and it falls to the tops of his shoulders. It softens his features, which have grown more angular with age and five years of war, and Claude has to imagine that Felix wears it up because it makes him look softer with it down. 

Claude reaches out, draws his fingers through it. It _is_ damp, and he figures Felix must have taken advantage of the private bath connected to the room and cleaned up. That’s good. If he’s going to be uncomfortable here, it’s going to be because Claude makes him. 

“I have the feeling asking you what you like is pointless, so, how’s this. I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry. But I need you to tell me what you absolutely won’t allow, this isn’t supposed to be punishment and I won’t let you make it that, either.” Claude puts as much natural dominance in his voice as he can, then takes Felix’s chin in his fingers and says, “You _will_ tell me and you’ll tell me now.” 

Felix doesn’t even try and fight, this time. “Don’t cover my eyes.” 

Claude waits, but the only other thing he gets out of Felix is a flush on his gorgeously high cheekbones and a scowl on that haughty face. Of course, Claude being _Claude_ , he immediately wants to dissect that limit, question it and push it somehow -- but he won’t, especially not this first time. “Thank you,” he says, nodding. “I won’t do that. Anything else?” 

Felix’s nostrils flare. “Get on with it.” 

“How about you say _please_.” Claude tightens his fingers on Felix’s chin. 

Felix is shaking again, not quite as bad as before Claude made him kneel but close. 

“You have got to be _dying_ for it,” Claude says, smiling like a predator who knows his prey is almost caught. “I mean, you were always tense at school, but --” he stops as something occurs to him. “You said you haven’t had this since the war ended, but...have you _ever?”_

“Shut the fuck up,” Felix hisses. But his eyes are so wide, the want is pouring off him so heady that Claude can practically taste it. 

“Has anyone _ever_ done it like you want it, Felix?” 

“No!” Felix snaps, and he doesn’t shout but it’s practically just as loud, the way the word bursts forth from him. “You fucking asshole, _no_ , it’s always been -- it’s never been what I wanted, is that what you want to hear?” 

“I told you what I wanted to hear, and you wouldn’t say it,” Claude says. “Figures I could get you to say _no_ instead.” Claude shakes his head, but he slides his hand up and strokes the side of Felix’s face. “Why are you _like_ this?”

It’s mostly a hypothetical question, but Felix -- because he’s contrary -- actually gives an answer. 

“It’s been good enough to -- to work. I _hate_ it - I hate wanting it,” Felix growls. He’s breathing so fast he’s almost hyperventilating. 

“You hate it,” Claude says, pushing his thumb into Felix’s mouth just briefly, just to watch Felix’s eyes nearly roll back in his head and feel Felix’s hot breath on his skin, the shock of wet heat from his mouth, “because you’ve never had what you need. Now _ask me for it._ ” He takes his thumb out, smirking when Felix leans forward like he’s trying to chase Claude and get it back. 

A heartbeat, and then… 

“Please,” Felix says, quietly. “ _Please_.” 

Two for the price of one, eh? Claude shivers and says with complete satisfaction, “Good boy.” He pats Felix on the side of the face. Felix still looks pissy but his eyes are wide, pupils dilated, Claude leans in, pressing his mouth against Felix’s. “I’m going to make this so good for you,” Claude murmurs, and then kisses Felix. 

For all the posturing and all the fighting he’s been doing, Felix kisses him back easily enough. He even moans into Claude’s mouth, making Claude’s cock hard and lighting up every single instinct he has. 

Claude gives Felix’s lower lip a quick bite, pulling back and thinking through everything he knows about Felix Fraldarius -- swordsman, fights up close with a blade, doesn’t want to be touched, but Claude’s settled him the most by restraining him and giving him tasks. _On your knees. Say please. Take your hair down._

Restraint, physical touch, make him ask for it. Right. 

Claude takes his chin again so he can look into Felix’s pretty eyes for a bit, see that lovely moment Felix’s nature kicks in and he lowers his gaze in submission. “Strip and lay on your back on the bed, cross your wrists above your head and don’t move them. If you do, I’ll stop. I’m sure you know that I mean it when I say that.” 

Felix gives a nod, as best he can with Claude still holding his face, so Claude takes that as an answer and drops his chin, stepping back and waiting to see what happens. 

After a deep breath, Felix raises his hands and starts unbuttoning his shirt, gaze still lowered. His fingers are shaking so hard that it takes him longer to undo the buttons than it should, but Claude doesn’t mind. It makes it better, seeing how affected Felix is, how badly he _wants_ this. Wants Claude to put him on his back, bleed out the tension and need. 

“Gods, I bet you frustrated so many doms at school,” Claude says, one hand on his hip as he thoroughly enjoys watching Felix _obey_. “Did Lorenz try? Please tell me he did.” He realizes that Felix is maybe in headspace enough to do it just because Claude said so, so he adds quickly, “Only if he really did it, I mean.” 

Felix still doesn’t look up, but he nods as he shrugs his shirt off. “Yeah. He tried. Once.” 

Claude throws his head back and laughs, loudly. “What did you do?” 

“I punched him in the stomach and left.” Felix tugs off his undershirt, then gets his tall boots off with a truly remarkable display of balance. He hesitates only a moment before he undoes his pants, too, pushing them down his lean hips along with his underwear. 

And then he’s naked. 

He’s beautiful; whipcord lean muscles and fair skin, silvered scars only adding to his loveliness. But he’s also hard, so much so that it looks like it has to be painful, though Claude only gets a brief glance before Felix stalks over to the bed. Which isn’t a bad thing at all, because then Claude gets an eyeful of Felix’s ass, muscular and perfect, and thinks how good it would feel turning red and warm under Claude’s palm. 

Felix climbs on the bed and lays on his back as bidden, raising his arms above his head and crossing them at the wrists exactly as Claude instructed. He’s all flushed, his cock eager, but his breathing is easier even if he’s still obstinately silent and staring up at the ceiling. Even this is settling him, and they haven’t even started yet. 

Claude strolls over and stares down at him, lets his eyes linger as long as he wants. “You’re lovely. I always thought that, even if you hardly ever gave me the time of day at school.” 

“I hardly gave anyone the time of day at school, you weren’t special.” Felix glances at him, but drops his gaze immediately the second he meets Claude’s eyes. 

Claude sits on the bed next to him. “Here’s the rules, okay? You don’t move your arms, and if you need me to stop, you say _stop_. Got it?” He has a feeling Felix isn’t going to do either of those things, but he wants to be clear. 

“Yes.” Felix says it like he’s annoyed about it, but that seems normal so Claude reaches out and pats him on the chest. Felix inhales sharply. “Claude--” 

“Yes?” Claude reaches down and skims his fingers up the inside of one of Felix’s thighs. “Spread your legs for me.” 

Felix’s cock twitches as he does so. 

“Mm. You look good like this. Desperate. I bet if I made you wait longer, I could make you actually beg me for it.” He laughs outright at the look that gets him. He pats Felix on the knee. “I won’t. This time, anyway.” 

“Claude,” Felix says, but softly. “Ah, I….ah.” 

_He wants me to make him beg,_ Claude realizes, stroking the sensitive skin of Felix’s inner thigh. “I know! I’ll let you beg me to fuck you, how’s that?” He smiles in delight as Felix _moans_ , arching up, though fingers opening and closing and his wrists still crossed above his head. “But not tonight. Something to look forward to.” 

Claude slides his fingers into Felix’s mouth. “Get them nice and wet.” He lets himself make a sound of pleasure as Felix sucks on Claude’s fingers for all he’s worth. His eyes stay open, blurry and unfocused, as Claude slides his fingers in and out of Felix’s mouth. Felix is making sounds, mouth so hot and wet that it goes straight to Claude’s cock. 

Claude rubs a hand over himself just to take the edge off, and he can see Felix watching as he does it. “Mm, do you like that? Seeing how hard it makes me when you behave?” 

_Behave_ makes Felix’s eyes flash, but he does something with his head that might be a nod and isn’t that a surprise? Good to know, too, that Felix likes the praise. Something else to keep in mind, and oh, they’re going to have _fun,_ aren’t they? 

Claude fucks his fingers in and out of Felix’s mouth, amping up the anticipation and watching Felix writhe on the bed as Claude draws it out. “I told you I’d make this good. You’re so hard for me, look at you. You thinking about how good my fingers are going to feel, when I put my hand on you?” 

Felix makes a sound and sucks harder on Claude’s fingers, and the fact he doesn’t _bite_ is a clear enough indication that he’s sliding deeper into headspace. He’s poised on that perfect knife’s edge of desperation and pain, and Claude finally draws his fingers free so he can put Felix out of his misery. Metaphorically speaking, of course. He drags his wet fingers across Felix’s cheek. “I really can’t wait to make you come.” 

Felix lowers his gaze and -- in a move that makes Claude bite his lip to hold back a moan -- tips his chin and just _slightly_ bares his throat. 

“Yeah, that’s it, that’s exactly what I want,” Claude breathes. “Gonna make you give it up for me, that’s what you want, I know it is.” 

“Would you just-- just _make me_ ,” Felix pants, but he tips his chin up a little more, shaking again, his eyelashes fluttering and he really _doesn’t_ want to close his eyes, it’s obvious. 

“Say please,” Claude murmurs, dragging his hand down Felix’s chest. “And use my name.” 

Even after all this build-up, the teasing, the fact Felix is pushing his hips up trying to get friction on his cock it _still_ takes a few long, breathless seconds before he says in a wrecked voice, “Please fucking _touch me_ , Claude.” 

Claude smiles at him. “Now give it up for me, and I promise I’ll touch you. Make you come.” 

Felix inhales sharply -- then tips his head up, all the way, showing the long smooth column of his throat. Claude, overcome for a moment by the heady pleasure of getting Felix to _finally_ submit to him. He wants to press his mouth there and _bite_ , but he’s already pushed this far enough for now. 

Claude sucks his own fingers into his mouth to get them wet again, then takes Felix’s hard cock in his hand and starts stroking him off, no more teasing. Claude is almost certain that it’s not going to take long, so he reaches his other hand up around Felix’s throat and squeezes gently, enough to restrict his air briefly. 

Felix looks _gorgeous_ , writhing and moaning, throat bared beautifully and his dark hair sticking to his sweat-damp skin as his head tosses on the pillow. He’s fucking up into Claude’s hand so hard his hips are bouncing on the mattress. He’s making sounds that Claude finds immediately addictive, and still - _still_ \-- his wrists remain crossed, unmoving, over his head. 

Felix doesn’t make it easy, but when he finally gives it up, he _gives it up._ Enthralled by the sight, Claude ignores the insistent throb of his own erection and twists his hand over the tip of Felix’s cock, wondering if he can push him just a little more, a little farther. 

“Ask me for it,” Claude says, even though he’s honestly not sure if Felix can even hear him over how hard he’s breathing. 

Felix’s cock is moving easily in Claude’s hand, slick with pre-come, and he says something up to the ceiling -- Claude’s entire body shivers as he finally makes out the words Felix is saying, over and over, like a litany. 

“Fuck, _fuck,_ please, Claude, _please --”_

That’s enough for Claude, who rewards him by saying, “Good, that’s so good, you can come,” and giving Felix’s throat one last squeeze. He holds this just a little longer, restricting his air for one long delicious moment and then finally easing off and letting Felix drag in a breath. 

When Felix comes it’s with a sharp _ah_ \-- and then his body arches like Claude’s bow, and he comes hard all over himself and Claude’s fist. Claude keeps stroking until Felix falls back panting on the bed, and then Claude gently releases his cock and moves the hand from around Felix’s throat up to stroke his hair out of his face. 

It takes some time for Felix to catch his breath, but when he does, his eyes blink slowly open -- he looks at Claude and immediately shifts his gaze down, submissive and quiet. It’s so fucking hot that Claude can barely think. He’s pretty sure he’s never worked so hard in his life to get one recalcitrant, needy submissive off with a handjob. 

Claude slides his fingers through the mess on Felix’s stomach, then moves up a bit on the bed so he can press them against Felix’s mouth. He doesn’t even have to say anything -- Felix licks them clean all slow and languid, gaze lowered, quiet and still. 

“Hey. Look at me.”

Felix does, and his eyes look drowsy and replete, and he really _does_ remind Claude of a cat in the way he’s licking at his fingers. 

“Feel better? Come on. Stroke my ego.” Claude winks. “Stroke it as good as I just stroked you off.” 

Felix doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth ticks up just a bit. “No.” His voice is all low and rough, and Claude has to laugh at the absolutely, completely not surprising answer. 

“You’re a real piece of work, Fraldarius.” He pats Felix on the side of the face. 

“Yeah.” Felix inhales, shakily, but he looks so _relaxed._ He glances at Claude again. 

“You can move your arms if you want, but you don’t have to. I like how you look like this.” Claude strokes Felix’s chest, pushes his hair out of Felix’s face as best he can. He’s still turned on, his cock is _aching_ , but for the moment he’s enjoying the satisfaction of having made Felix finally submit. “I’m going to get a wet cloth, some water for you -- is that all right?” 

That hadn’t been a long scene but it had been pretty intense, so Claude wants to make sure Felix is all right with him getting up and leaving his side, even if it’s only for a few minutes. 

Felix just nods, breathing quietly with his eyes closed (the first time he’s kept them closed for any length of time, Claude notices), so Claude gets up and heads over to the table. He finds one of the linen napkins and the pitcher of water, fills up the goblet and then wets the cloth with whatever is left in the pitcher. 

He carries both back to the bed, and grins at Felix -- still with his arms up -- looking debauched and messy with his hair everywhere. Claude sits down and uses the cloth to clean up Felix, who makes a grumpy sound at the cool cloth wiping over his heated skin but remains mostly quiescent as Claude cleans him. 

Claude tugs a little on Felix’s hair when he’s finished with the cloth. “Sit up and drink this.” 

Felix blinks his eyes open, then finally moves his arms from above his head to take the water and sips it. His hands are steady, Claude notices with a smile. Felix finishes the water, then rolls his shoulders a bit after Claude takes the goblet. Claude turns to place both items on the bedside table. 

Felix is watching him when he turns back around, curious but still enough in headspace that when he speaks, his voice is soft, far less harsh than normal. “Thank you.” It’s completely sincere. 

Claude reaches out and plays with Felix’s hair, smiling at him. “You’re welcome. You were really hard up for it.” 

Felix blushes. It’s cute. “Yeah. I -- I know I was.” He looks away, but then he says, hesitantly, “You didn’t….?” 

Claude shakes his head. “This was for you. Don’t worry about me.” 

Felix frowns. “That’s not how it works.” 

“Hey.” Claude reaches out, takes his chin again. “You don’t decide how this works. I do. Understand?” 

Felix nods, so Claude leans in and kisses him on the mouth. “Good. Now, I want you to relax and get some sleep.” He pulls back and stands up, and he sort of wants to open his pants and jerk himself off all over Felix’s pretty, haughty face, but…

Later. 

“Oh, also -- sleep naked.” Mostly because he doesn’t want Felix up and about and ruining all the hard work Claude just did to relax him, but also because the idea is hot and Claude likes to think about him all tangled up naked in his old bed. 

Felix nods. He’s lying on his back, one hand on his chest, the other arm behind his head. “All right.” 

“Felix?” One more thing. 

“Yes?” he turns, glances up at Claude for a second and then looks away again. He doesn’t seem to be one for eye contact, regardless if he’s in headspace or not. 

“Why are you here?” Claude asks, simple and direct, the words infused with every bit of his authority. It would be hard for Felix to ignore him even at his prickliest; now, relaxed and finally in the headspace he’d denied himself for -- fuck, _years_ \-- it will be impossible. 

Felix doesn’t try to stall or prevaricate, he just answers the question. “She didn’t know what else to do with me.” Felix’s gaze remains submissively lowered. “I was too difficult.” 

Claude nods. There’s more to this and he knows it, but he doesn’t know which questions to ask and he has to be careful. At least he’s almost positive that he’s not in any danger of an assassination attempt. “Why’d they have you in chains?” 

“We had to go through Fodlan to get here.” Felix’s voice is still soft, but there’s a slight tension returning to his frame that Claude doesn’t want, so he doesn’t push for more. 

“Okay. I’ll come back in the morning. We’ll talk about what your options are, all right? You’re not a prisoner here, that’s not really my style.”

“I know.” Felix stretches, yawns, and Claude simply watches and enjoys the show. Felix notices him watching. 

“You’re cute when you blush,” Claude says, just to watch him do it _more_. 

“Ugh.” Felix goes quiet again. “You don’t have to do this, you know. Let me stay, or -- do any of this. I know how I am. Difficult. An asshole.” 

Claude grins at him. “I’m also both of those things. Now, you? Be quiet, go to sleep. Oh, and think about how I’m going to go get myself off thinking about how hot you looked and how badly I wanted to come all over that pretty face of yours.” 

Felix rolls his eyes, but there’s a little smile on his face that’s there and gone so fast, Claude’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. 

“Oh, and Felix -- you don’t get to come unless I say so. Got that?” 

“I --” Felix stops, swallows, then nods. “All right.” 

“Good.” Claude leans over and kisses him, runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 


	3. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hilda thinks Claude is ridiculous, Claude is dramatic, and Marianne is best girl <3 
> 
> (Happy Royal Family Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this is very short but would have made Chapter 2 a lot longer, and the tonal shift was a bit jarring so I made it a separate chapter -- especially as there's a POV shift in the next bit. 
> 
> Brief mentions of a threesome but it's mostly Claude/Hilda, Hilda/Marianne.

When Claude gets back to his room, Hilda is finishing up work on one of her accessories, and Marianne is naked and collared at her feet on her pillow, reading a book. Marianne blushes immediately when Claude comes in, but she doesn’t turn away like she used to, or try to hide herself. Claude just gives her a wink and a wolf-whistle; it makes her giggle. 

Well, at least one of them has a submissive who’s not impossible and grumpy. 

Though --  _ is  _ Felix his? He’s here, intended as a gift, but you can’t just  _ give  _ people away even if they’re political prisoners. And he’s not even sure that Felix  _ is  _ a political prisoner. Whatever, Claude will think about this tomorrow. Right now, he wants to bask in his happy dom headspace and also probably get off. 

Yeah. Definitely the last one. 

“So, did you get him to admit he’s here for nefarious --” Hilda turns around, stops, and her eyebrows go up into her hairline. “He  _ blue-balled  _ you?” 

“I’ve never in my  _ life  _ seen a sub that hard up to be put on his back and fucked into headspace,” Claude groans, flinging himself onto the bed as dramatically as possible. “You know why he’s here? Because Princess thinks he’s too  _ difficult _ .” 

“This is my surprised face,” says Hilda, who has no sympathy and is mean to him. Evil woman. “Did he tell you that before or after you ended up sporting a raging boner in your pants?” 

“It’s not  _ raging _ , Hilda. I’ve had worse, believe me. And he told me after I choked him and jerked him off, which I  _ was  _ going to tell you about but now I don’t think I will.” He rubs his hand idly over himself through his pants. “I might change my mind if you wanna blow me, though. I can talk and get my dick sucked.” 

“You can talk and do  _ anything _ , Claude.” She shakes her head, putting all her jewelry making accessories away in the little desk drawers until the entire surface is neat and clean. “You can also probably do anything and  _ also  _ get your dick sucked. You’re a talented man.”

“Don’t you know it. Soooo….?” He lifts his head and gives her a winning smile. “About that blowjob.” 

“No way, I’m busy.” Hilda smirks at him. 

“Busy doing what?” Claude asks, suspicious. “You just put everything away!” 

“Watching you suffer,” Hilda says, batting her eyelashes at him. “Maybe I’ll make Marianne get me off while I think about how sad and unsatisfied you are.” She reaches down and plays with Marianne’s hair. “ _ My  _ submissive is a good girl.” 

Claude sticks his tongue out at her and falls back so he’s spread eagle on the bed. “Do you see what I put up with, Marianne?” 

“Yes, Claude,” Marianne says, her soft voice warm and amused. “She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” 

“I don’t know how you even  _ got  _ her,” Claude whines, but he’s smiling up at the ceiling. They’re so cute, Hilda and Marianne. “Where’s  _ my  _ pretty submissive to wear my collar and snark at  _ you _ ?” 

“Blue-balling you, apparently,” his wife says.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Claude, ever the optimist, switches tactics. “I have the hottest wife in Almyra  _ and  _ Fodlan, did you know that, Marianne?” 

“I did, yes,” Marianne says, giggling softly. 

“You are  _ not  _ going to fuck me because your newest scheme got you hot, Claude,” says Hilda. 

Claude raises his head to aim a pout at her. “I do that all the  _ time _ , Hilda. You like it! You’d like this, too. So will Marianne. I know she’s yours but secretly she likes my dirty talk.” 

“You are very good at it,” Marianne says, serenely. 

“I got off four times already,” says Hilda, smugly. 

Claude raises his hand, makes it into a fist and shakes it in Marianne’s general direction. “Good job, Marianne.” 

“Thank you so much, Your Majesty,” Marianne demurrs. “It was my pleasure.” 

“Great, great. Everyone’s pleasured but me. I’m the  _ king _ .” 

“Call someone in, then. Ohh, how about Raza? He was hot as  _ fuck  _ and rode you like a champ.” Hilda stands up, stretches, and holds her hand out to Marianne. “Bedtime, baby girl. Want to sleep with me? Claude’s being too horny, I’m kicking him out.” 

“Hey!” Claude, still flat on his back, leaps directly to his feet in one smooth motion. “Fine, fine. I’ll go get off in the bath by  _ myself _ like I’m seventeen again, thank you so much for that.” 

“Hmm.” Hilda gives him a considering look. “That little acrobatic move you just did was pretty hot, I can’t lie. Do some more tricks. Entertain me and I’ll think about, oh, maybe a minimal-effort handjob. How’s that? Good compromise?” 

Claude laughs, reaches out and pulls her in for a kiss. “What a woman.” 

Hilda melts sweetly against him, like she does when she’s in a good mood -- as she often is, when she gets to brutally rake him over the burning hot coals of her wit -- and feeling affectionate, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. “I’m only teasing. I love fucking you. But I really  _ am  _ tired, so I hope Cranky Face Fraldarius got you worked up enough to literally, like. Do all the work.” 

“It was pretty hot, but don’t worry. Your scathing tongue has -- how did you put it? Killed my boner?” 

“Lies, you  _ lie _ , von Riegan, I can feel it,” Hilda says, hand dropping down to rub over his cock which was, actually, beginning to soften. It immediately springs back to attention. Thanks, Hilda. 

“Seriously, it’s fine.” Claude kisses her on the forehead. Which isn’t easy, for all her personality and badassery, she’s not very tall. “You go ahead and have fun with Marianne, and I’ll shuffle off to the baths, alone, unloved, unwanted --” 

“Claude, stop it,” Hilda says, laughing, and giving him a little push. “Your sense of humor turns me on almost as much as your core strength, you’re not going anywhere.” She grins at him, saucy and sexy and so adorable he kind of can’t believe she’s his and he gets to keep her. “Mari, baby, come take my shirt off and let’s play with the king.”

“You know I have literally no problem jerking myself off and going to sleep in, like, under ten minutes, right?” Claude asks her. 

“Yeah, trust me, babe, I’m aware. Honestly, stop protesting.” Hilda smiles and somehow times when to hold her arms up at the exact moment Marianne appears behind her to slide her shirt off. She’s bare underneath, her gorgeous breasts on display, a few little hickeys and love bites marking her skin from her recent play with Marianne. 

“Mmm.” Claude runs his fingers over them, enjoying how Hilda shivers. “Strong work again, Marianne. The king commends you for treating the queen like she deserves.” 

“Thank you so much,” says Marianne, from behind Hilda. “I do enjoy making her feel good.” 

“Stop talking about yourself in the third person,” says Hilda, and reaches to take off his pants. 

While Claude adores Marianne and easily accepted her into their home and their lives, and while they sometimes tumble in the royal bed together -- like now -- he is always mindful and respectful that Marianne is not, in fact,  _ his _ . 

Claude thinks about what it might be like, as he kneels on the bed and watches Hilda suck his cock, on all fours while riding Marianne’s face, to have someone for himself, too. If Felix would like this whole playful, sharing thing. Or if he would be cranky and irritate Hilda to the point they ended up tussling like they were having grappling practice instead of sex. 

Which, honestly -- 

He’s distracted when Hilda slides two wet fingers between his legs and plays with his hole as Marianne gets her off,  _ again _ , moaning around his cock as she comes. 

Hilda’s fingers curl up perfect inside him, her tongue rubbing the underside of his cock, and Claude stops thinking about anything at all. 

It isn’t until later, when Hilda and Marianne are curled up against each other and sleeping peaceful, that he lets himself think about what he’s going to do with Felix. Not just in the sexy way he narrated to Hilda earlier before she sucked him off, but actually do with him -- a former Faerghus noble, political prisoner, gifted to him by the Emperor of the country he is determined to sign an actual, lasting peace treaty with for the first time in history. 

Because a lie of omission is still a lie, and Claude’s enough of a liar to know when he’s on the other end of one. 

A hot submissive with an attitude problem and a mystery, all wrapped up in one? He owes Edelgard a  _ lot  _ of spices. Maybe he’ll send her a wyvern. A cranky, unbroken wyvern who will need a skilled handler if there’s ever a hope of riding him. 

It only seems fair. 


	4. wyvernfruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix gets his bearings, breakfast, and a bargain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making a lot of assumptions about Almyra, one of which is that they speak another language and another of which is that Claude has a different name/chose to use his mother's surname in Fodlan because of his relationship to Duke Riegan. (Unless Almyrans are matrilineal, which I'm honestly doubting since his father is the king.) Likely he took it as his when he moved to Fodlan, for obvious reasons, but I like the idea he has a totally different name. 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos/comments and encouragement! I'm so into this story it's literally all I'm thinking about, and I absolutely LOVE talking DS-verse so hit me up on twitter or here if you want! My secret goal is to get a plethora of other stories with this concept that I can read, so, I'm sort of like Hilda I guess :D

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is that he’s naked. 

Felix doesn’t sleep naked _._ Fraldarius was way too cold, even in the summer, and his family’s ancient keep was impossible to keep warm. Enbarr was far more temperate, but in all his time as Edelgard’s _guest,_ Felix never felt comfortable enough to let his guard down and be so vulnerable. 

It’s also well after sunrise, which is unusual for him - he’s always been an early-riser, but the amount of sun pouring in makes it pretty clear that this time, he’s overslept. 

The next thing he notices is that he feels better than he’s felt in a very long time. His muscles have the slightest of aches, simply from the release of all the tension he’d been carrying around for so long. Felix stretches, soaks in the sun and the strange sensation of _peacefulness_ that is so foreign it would almost be worrying if he had enough energy to care. 

Felix reaches up and pushes his hair out of his face -- another unusual thing, that it isn’t braided or at the very least tied back -- and looks around. The room is unfamiliar, but he’s not so out of it that he doesn’t know where he is. The Royal Palace in Almyra. 

Felix takes a slow, deep breath. He knows exactly why he feels better, and of course his mind turns immediately to last night. To Claude’s hand around Felix’s throat, the other stroking Felix’s cock. Using that _voice_ , the one he never used back when they were at Garreg Mach together, the one that made Felix finally give in to his body’s incessant demands to _submit_. 

Felix’s cock stirs just from the memory of it. He reaches down almost out of instinct before he remembers he’s not supposed to make himself come. Which, he could ignore that rule -- and would, if it had been anyone else who told him to follow it -- but Claude has managed to do what literally no one else has managed in a very long time, and that’s get Felix to _want_ to submit to him. 

And then actually do it, and have Felix want to do it _again_. 

Felix has always hated being a submissive, but not for any of the bullshit reasons they like to throw around in Faerghus about what it means to be born a sub. Not because it makes him inherently _less,_ but because he hates relying on other people to give him what he needs. He’s sure it’s probably not much different being a dominant, but it’s a lot easier to get those urges out when you’re commanding a battalion during a war. 

Or that’s what he’s always thought, anyway. Some things he’s seen during the last five years has really made him question if he knows fuck-all about any of this, really. 

Whatever. It is what it is, and it’s not like he can change it. Felix is well-aware that he’s difficult ( _picky,_ Sylvain used to say), and exacting, and he’s never going to apologize for refusing to show his throat for some asshole who thinks he deserves Felix’s submission for no other reason than simple biology. Fuck that. 

Felix throws the covers off and sits up, wincing at how bright it is as he tries to run his fingers through his hair. He’s going to need a bath and a proper comb to work the tangles out. He should have put it up before bed. 

Claude told him to sleep naked, so he had. But a quick, cursory glance around the room shows no sign of his clothes from last night, and does Claude think Felix is just going to walk around _naked_ the rest of however long he’s going to be staying here? He spent enough time in the Imperial household to know that they do that there, sometimes. Make their collared subs stay naked all day. 

Then again, he hasn’t seen anyone in a collar here at all. Maybe they don’t do that kind of thing. And it’s not like Felix has ever worn anyone’s collar, other than the one he’d worn for his trip through Fodlan. He touches his fingers to his throat, remembering the weight of it. How having it affixed around his neck was the closest thing he’d had to submitting since the last time. 

But he isn’t going to think about that. 

Felix eventually finds his meager belongings stored in a large double-doored chest across the room. There’s also a set of fresh clothes, and he wonders if maybe they’re Claude’s. They’re about the same size, though Claude’s filled out a bit in the shoulders since their time at the monastery. 

Felix takes the clothes and goes into the private bathing room adjoining his temporary chambers, which is a remarkable room comprised of a large, deep pool full of water that must come up from the ground from a hot spring. It’s constantly bubbling and steaming, and even the large baths in the Imperial palace can’t compare with this kind of luxury. Felix spent a lot of time during the war bivouacking and bathing in cold streams or in lukewarm tubs; things were better in Enbarr, but even in the palace the large baths were shared among more than one person. 

To not have to choose between luxury and privacy is pretty great. It’s one indulgence Felix doesn’t mind allowing himself. He wonders whose rooms these were, before they were given to him. 

Felix steps down into the bath and sighs a little at the heat and the steam; it’s maybe a little _too_ hot, but he discovered yesterday that he would get used to it after a little while. There’s a hollow alcove near the seating bench with a variety of soaps and oils, even a comb. It’s well-appointed. Maybe it’s meant for royal visitors, who knows. 

Yesterday, Felix took a bath and immediately jerked himself off to the memory of Claude making him kneel in the reception room. He has much better memories now, but mindful of his instructions -- while telling himself he is _choosing_ to follow them -- he doesn’t tarry. He washes up and combs out his hair, then looks around and sees he’s definitely alone before he floats on his back in the large pool and lets the steam ease the rest of the lingering soreness from his muscles. 

Eventually he gets a little _too_ hot, though, and unlike the typical set-up in Enbarr there’s no corresponding cold pool so he climbs out and stands awkwardly in the center of the room, arms out, watching the steam rise off his body, skin flushed red from the heat. There’s a linen towel that he finds hanging off a rack, and he uses to dry himself and his hair as best he can. 

Clean and with his hair sleek and tied up in its customary topknot, Felix dresses in the borrowed clothes and goes back into the room. He wonders what he’s supposed to do, what might happen if he tries to leave - not that he really has anywhere to go. It feels strange not to have a sword. He pulls on his boots and wonders if he’s supposed to make the bed. 

He really should be a lot more concerned, probably, about his situation. But lulled by last night’s activities, a good night’s sleep and the bath...all he does is go and look out of the window. The royal palace is a sprawling, one-story building and his rooms look out over what appears to be a long rectangular pool of water. He can see a flight of wyverns in the distance, swooping and darting through a bright blue sky. 

So. This is Almyra. Goddess, it’s so _sunny_. He’s not made for this kind of weather. Felix presses his fingers to the glass of the windows, feels the warmth against his skin. 

There is a knock at the door. 

Felix turns but he doesn’t say anything, figuring the knock is more of a courtesy than an inquiry. He’s a foreigner, a _gift,_ and a submissive. He doesn’t really have the right to say someone can’t enter this room, does he? 

The door opens and there’s Claude, holding something that looks like a tray of food. He’s also dressed entirely differently than he was last night; in lieu of anything formal, he’s wearing what appears to be riding leathers. Tight pants, a fitted shirt with a light vest, thigh-high black boots and plain dark gloves. His hair is tied back with a brightly patterned scarf, his light brown skin is perhaps a little windburned, those bright green eyes of his alert as ever. 

He’s so ridiculously attractive. Felix’s mouth goes dry even as his stomach grumbles at the sight and smell of food. 

Felix was always _aware_ of Claude, ever since they were introduced back at Garreg Mach. It’s impossible _not_ to be aware of him, and Felix doesn’t think it has anything to do with him being a dom, either. Which of course he was; Claude was the future Duke Riegan and the leader of the Golden Deer. But he’d kept just _how_ dominant he was hidden, somehow, since no one had figured out he was the _future king of Almyra._

Most everyone at Garreg Mach thought Claude was attractive, even back then -- including Felix, because he wasn’t blind -- with those easy smiles that never quite reached his bright green eyes and his laugh that always rang somehow insincere to Felix. Felix mistrusted everyone as a general rule, and he’d never been all that interested in revising his initial opinion of the future leader of the Leicester Alliance. 

Over the course of the year, though, Felix noticed the way all of Claude’s insincere smiles and easy charm vanished when it mattered; he was ruthless and reliable during mock battles, commanding the Deer without hesitation and employing risky strategies that would either win the day or end in spectacular failure. 

The Black Eagles won that year’s Battle of the Eagle and Lion, with Felix’s own house coming in a close second. Claude’s house lost the day, but he’d also won an award for having the least casualties. They’d lost because they’d give up the ballista, Claude himself the only person from his house taken out of the battle. 

Claude just smiled when he’d been given his commendation and shrugged it off; but Felix remembered it as the first time he ever saw Claude smile and actually _mean_ it. The Deer all stood up at the post-battle feast and cheered for him. 

Felix forgot all about that until after Derdriu. When Claude and the Alliance were defeated, but every one of his Golden Deer walked away unscathed from the battle and went on to survive the war. 

Maybe those mock-battle losses weren’t failures. Maybe they were just _practice_. Felix is beginning to think that maybe the Alliance was never really Claude’s goal at all. A necessary sacrifice, like the ballista on that mock-battle long ago at Gronder. 

“I brought you breakfast,” Claude says, kicking the door shut behind him. “Thought we could talk while you ate.” Claude strolls over and puts the tray down on the table. He’s the _king_ and he’s bringing Felix breakfast. It doesn’t even seem like he minds, either. 

He seems to be good at becoming whatever he needs to be in the moment. Felix wonders if anyone ever really knew Claude at all, back at school. 

“All right.” Felix moves closer, relaxed enough to remember that manners are a thing and he should try using some. “Thank you for the clothes.” 

Claude looks briefly surprised, as people usually are when Felix shows a modicum of respect and politeness. But he nods and kicks one of the chairs out and away from the table before falling into it, pulling his gloves off and tossing them nonchalantly next to the tray. “Sure.” 

Claude’s pants seem _indecently_ tight. Felix remembers last night, how he’d wanted to touch Claude but wasn’t allowed to. How Claude hadn’t even needed restraints to keep Felix from moving. That had never worked, _ever_ , with anyone else. 

Even with -- 

Felix scowls and takes a step toward the chair opposite Claude, but Claude says sharply, “Felix,” in that _voice_ , sharp and full of authority, and every single submissive instinct lights up in Felix like a thoron spell. 

Goddess, he can’t -- this is ridiculous. He got what he needed, it should be _fine_ . He shouldn’t be acting like this. Felix has gone _years_ without giving in to this part of himself with any regularity. He refuses to pant for it like a dog in heat. _Refuses._

He glances at Claude, lifts his chin and crosses his arms over his chest. 

Claude, sprawled in the chair with all the arrogance of the king he most certainly is, snaps his fingers...then points at the floor. 

Felix knows what Claude wants him to do. He even _wants to do it_ , moving toward Claude and away from the chair where he’d been meaning to sit. But he can’t quite make himself take that last step and kneel without being told. 

_Just make me,_ Felix thinks, giving Claude a mullish sort of stare. 

Claude doesn’t look bothered -- or surprised -- in the least. “Kneel and you can have breakfast. Stare at me like that and you can starve.” He smiles, but there’s no doubt in Felix’s mind that he means it. 

Felix went through five years of war in Fraldarius territory. He knows how to miss a few meals. “If you think I won’t starve to make a point, you don’t know me at all.’

“If you think I’ll allow that, you haven’t been paying attention.” Claude’s smile is gone, and he snaps his fingers again and points at the floor. “Don’t make me tell you twice.” 

Predictably, being threatened with punishment makes Felix’s spine stiffen. It makes other things stiffen, too, but he’s ignoring that. “Or what?” 

Claude takes something from the tray and eats it. He shrugs, sips some tea, and makes Felix wait before he says, “Your food will get cold.” 

They stare at each other. Felix is quietly frustrated at his own inability to just let himself have this, because of course he wants it. Claude looks implacable and wholly unmoved by Felix’s quiet tantrum. 

Claude eats a piece of what looks like fruit from one of the small dishes on the tray. “I know what you want. You want me to grab your hair, force you to your knees.” 

Heat washes over Felix, his hands clenching into fists. He holds Claude’s cool stare for only a few seconds before he shifts his gaze down to the floor. This has always been the easiest part of submission for him, mostly because he’s not one for making eye contact with anyone. 

“That’s not how this works. If I want to grab your hair, I will. You know what I want you to do. And I know you _want_ to do it, do you think I can’t tell?” 

This is the thing about Claude. His eerily accurate ability to read other people is hot and so _frustrating._ He’s not seen Felix in years and suddenly he’s got him all figured out. It’s infuriating and somehow _calming_ and Felix cannot make himself give in but _Goddess,_ he wants to. 

“I know you like the struggle, the fight. It’s fine. I like it, too. But there’s a time and a place, and this isn’t it.” Claude’s voice gets even _sharper._ “Look at me.” 

Felix looks at him. 

Claude points at the floor. 

Felix tips his head back, huffs out a thoroughly annoyed breath, and sinks to his knees. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. 

“Honestly,” Claude says. “Come closer. Unless you want me to toss your food at you? Is that how you eat breakfast in Faerghus?” 

Felix moves closer. “You can’t think that one time is enough for me to be someone else in the morning.” 

Claude picks up something that looks like a very small, savory piece of meat and says, “I don’t want you to be someone else. I like a challenge. I can handle you, don’t worry.” He waits. 

Felix’s entire face goes hot. “I can feed myself.” 

“Yes, and you’re not going to. No more questions.” 

Felix opens his mouth. The tiny piece of meat is warm and spicy, delicious, and it probably _would_ be less so if it were cold. 

Claude leans in closer, and then -- bops Felix on the nose. 

Something hot burns behind Felix’s eyes and in his throat. He jerks his head away. “Don’t treat me like a child. This isn’t _easy_ for me.” 

“Nothing about you is easy.” Claude tips his chin up with two fingers. “I get the feeling no one’s ever nice to you, but it’s not because they don’t want to be. It’s that you won’t let them. I’m an affectionate guy, Felix. Get used to it.” 

Felix gives him a look, and he’s not sure what exactly Claude sees in it but he laughs, pats Felix on the side of the face -- and then he _smacks him,_ so hard and out of the blue that Felix can’t prepare himself to take the strike. It echoes in his head, the slap stinging perfect and delicious. 

He hears a sound -- a moan. It’s his, of course. 

“Gods, look at you,” Claude breathes. “Are you even aware your hands are behind your back? Your posture is _perfect._ And I can see from here how hard you are.” 

All of these things are true. Felix _does_ have his hands perfectly resting in the small of his back and doesn’t even remember putting them there. Claude’s fingers stroke over the red mark on his face from the smack, and Felix’s cock _aches._

Claude smiles. “You’re not that difficult to figure out. Open up.” 

Felix rolls his eyes upward, but he opens his mouth. Claude feeds him more of whatever the meat is, and a piece of the unfamiliar fruit; it’s bitter and way better than the too-sweet kind they favored in Enbarr. Claude also feeds him a strange dried chewy thing that Felix doesn’t like. 

The food is accompanied by occasional sips of hot tea -- Almyran pine, Felix’s favorite, which he hasn’t had since the monastery as only the professor ever seemed to have any. Claude does not, thankfully, add any sugar. 

“Good,” Claude says, at length, pressing another of the unknown fruit pieces into Felix’s mouth. Felix thinks about sucking on Claude’s fingers like he did last night. He doesn’t -- Claude has him in headspace deep enough that he wouldn’t think of doing it without instruction -- but he can’t ignore how it makes him shiver to think about. 

Felix wants to know what the fruit is, but he can’t seem to ask. He can’t do much of anything but kneel there and let himself drift, vaguely aware that he’s been put under this far just by kneeling and being hand-fed his breakfast. 

“So, here’s what I know,” says Claude, reaching out and scratching at Felix’s scalp like Felix is a cat, or one of Claude’s wyverns. “You’re telling me that you’re here because Edelgard said you were too _difficult_ of a submissive to keep around. Edelgard, who could probably make _me_ kneel and eat wyvernfruit out of her hand if she wanted.” 

“ _Wyvern_ fruit?” Felix makes a face. “Is that what the meat was? Dried wyvern?” 

“What?” Claude huffs a laugh. “No, are you talking about the dried, chewy things I could tell you didn’t like? Those were dried figs. The fruit is called wyvernfruit, because you find it in trees that grow near wild wyvern clutches. It’s not actually made out of wyverns.” He says something, then, and Felix glances up because whatever it was, it was a different language. 

“What?” Felix blinks. “What did you say?” 

“I said --” Claude repeats it, and Felix just... _stares_ at him, as if it had never occurred to him before that Claude might speak an entirely different language. “It’s Almyran. It means _you people are crazy._ You people, as in, Fodlanders.” 

Felix blinks. “I didn’t realize they spoke a different language here.” It seems a stupid thing to say. It’s an entirely different country. 

“Yeah. I know. You don’t know very much about us at all. I’m going to change that.” Claude rubs his thumb over Felix’s bottom lip. “I can teach some of our language to you, if you want. I’ve taught Hilda. Mainly curse words. Or at least those are the only ones she remembers.” 

Felix thinks about this. “You’re part Fodlan.” 

“That I am,” says Claude. “My father’s Almyran, my mom’s from Fodlan. I grew up speaking both languages, if you’re wondering why I don’t have an accent.” 

“Your parents, are they still alive?” Felix asks, a little hesitantly. He’s not usually one to ask personal questions, but he’s apparently relaxed enough to do it with Claude. 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. They’re up in the north part of the country, taking an extended vacation. They’ll be back at some point.” Claude eats another one of the chewy things -- the figs.

“Is Claude your real name?” Felix asks. “It doesn’t sound Almyran.” Neither does Von Riegan, which, come to think of it, must be his mother’s surname. 

Claude smiles at him, warm and with obvious approval. “Clever. It is, and it isn’t -- my mother gave me a Fodlan name, just in case I would need it. But it's not the name I was given at birth, no.” 

“Why don't you use it?” 

“It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you someday. But we’re talking about you right now.” Claude leans forward, casual and easy, but Felix feels the edge to the words, the slight rebuff. 

Felix feels the pleasant and hard-won headspace shift dangerously away, just from the slightest suggestion of Claude’s disapproval. 

_I am in trouble,_ Felix thinks, shifting on his knees. He doesn’t know if he means from himself, or from Claude. 

“Hey. It’s fine.” Claude takes Felix’s chin in his fingers. “I like that you want to know about me. But I need to figure this out first, okay?” He waits for Felix to nod, and then says, “now, as I was saying -- you’re here, because you’re telling me that _no one_ in the Empire knew what to do with you? You’re, what, the only difficult submissive in the whole place?” 

Felix levels him with a look. “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you one day.” 

Claude’s smile definitely reaches his eyes, this time. “What a brat. I can’t imagine what you’re after.” He laughs and turns Felix’s face one way, then the next. Then he tightens his fingers on Felix’s chin, holds his face firm, and smacks him with his other hand. 

Felix’s breath comes out in a moan. “Fuck.” 

“That’s because you were clever, and I like clever. And I must like bratty.” Claude grins at him with that same sharp smile. “Say thank you.” 

“Thank you,” Felix says. He feels better, though the floor hurts his knees and his face is stinging on _both_ sides now. Maybe that’s why he feels better. “What do you want me to say? I was a political prisoner.” 

“Were you?” Claude strokes Felix’s face, his hair. “I don’t know if I believe that.” 

Felix feels a sharp burst of cold fear deep in his gut, taking him out of headspace even more than Claude’s earlier, momentary displeasure. Claude notices, of course, and says in that _voice_ , “Listen to me. I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m starting to think it wasn’t Edelgard sending me a gift -- I think it was _your_ choice. And I think you’ll tell me when you’re ready. You stay here, though, you _will_ let me handle you.” 

Felix inhales sharply. He could argue, but honestly, they both know this is what Felix wants. But it’s not like him to just admit it, even when he’s under like this. “You really think you want to do that?” 

Claude’s eyebrows go up. “Do you think I’m talking just to hear myself speak?” 

Felix feels himself smile, fierce and _challenging._ “Considering it’s you? Probably.” 

Claude’s smile makes Felix’s entire body flush as hot as the bath, earlier. “Fair point.” He presses two fingers to Felix’s mouth and then pushes them inside, over his tongue -- and down, not enough to _gag_ him but enough to make him quiet. “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into with you. Do you want to know how many wyverns I’ve broken to the saddle? You think I can’t handle one mouthy Faerghus swordsman? It took me less time to have you eating out of my hand than every wild beast in my stables.” 

Felix breathes hard over Claude’s fingers, still in his mouth and holding down his tongue. His eyes narrow. He is strongly considering biting. 

Claude can tell, obviously. “Bite me and I’ll do the same thing to you that I do to the wyverns. A nice muzzle and some straps. Bet you’d like that, though, wouldn’t you? You don’t like talking.” Claude pulls his fingers out of Felix’s mouth, and just like last night, he drags them wet over Felix’s cheek. “Settle down.” 

Felix stares down at the floor, and _does_. In a few hours he’ll hate how easily Claude’s read him and picked up on what he wants, what he needs -- but right now, after years of denying himself and his nature, of refusing to even ask for something as simple as a good flogging, Felix can’t find it anything but a relief. And really attractive. 

He’s surprised when Claude reaches out and tugs him forward again, his hand around the back of Felix’s neck. “You aren’t a prisoner, here. People think that just because we don’t traditionally collar our submissives that we mistreat them or don’t protect them. It’s ridiculous.” 

“Collaring has nothing to do with it.” There are plenty of mistreated collared subs in Fodlan. This isn’t about cultural attitudes or practices. It’s about Felix, and how he doesn’t believe for one second that Claude will want to put up with him for any length of time. Submissives like him aren’t the kind you collar. “The difference is you teach your wyverns to learn the saddle. To like it. You are _never_ going to make me like it.” 

Claude smirks at him, eyes gleaming. “My favorite wyvern? She bites everyone who tries to pet her but me, Felix. Hell, sometimes she wants me to pet her and _then_ she bites me, just to remind me she has teeth. She bucks me off if she feels like it, sometimes in mid-air, just to see what I’ll do and if I’m worthy of riding her. And she screams at me for no reason. She keeps me alive in battle because she doesn’t want to die, not because of anything I’m doing with the reins.” He smiles. “This make sense, or are you too much an infantryman to understand my metaphor?” 

Felix shakes his head, lowering his gaze again. “I understand it fine." 

“You just don’t believe me.” 

“I do, _now_ ,” Felix says, putting emphasis on the word and expecting Claude will understand. Claude has him in subspace almost as deep as he did last night. It’s not right now that’s the problem. It’s every single time he’s not under. “But you can’t have it both ways. You want me to believe you, you have to keep me under. You keep me under, I’m not a challenge.” 

_I’m not the kind of submissive you collar. I’m the kind you play with and get off on putting on his knees, until you realize I will never stay there without a fight._

“So that’s what you’re afraid of.” Claude’s fingers grasp Felix’s chin again. “Okay. Good. Now I know.” He leans in and kisses Felix, surprisingly softly. “I don’t think you’ve ever been under all the way. I look forward to earning the right to put you there. But we’ll get there. I’m a patient man.” 

Felix kisses him back. “I hate what I am. Don’t you get that?” 

“Felix,” Claude says, taking his face in both hands. “I’ve known that since the moment I met you. If anyone can change your mind, believe me when I tell you it’s me. I’ll have some rules for you tomorrow, we can go over them. But first, we need to start with this idea that you’re too much for me to handle. I’ve been underestimated my whole life, and it’s never stopped me, not one time. So. You ready to give me all I can handle? You’re going to, and I’ll put you under so far you won’t want to _blink_ without permission. Do you believe me?” 

It sounds fucking amazing, but Felix has had it that good exactly once -- and it all went to hell almost immediately afterward, so badly that he doesn’t trust himself to fall that hard again. And even then, he doesn’t think he fell all the way. Even with _him_ , that was impossible. And if _he_ couldn’t manage it, with all their history, then Claude -- who is mostly a stranger -- never will. “Not really, no.” 

Claude smiles, wicked and slow. “Lucky for you, I live for proving people wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter exists! Please check out this GORGEOUS commission from Midnightsinner5 on Twitter [Claude tipping Felix's chin up with two fingers while Felix kneels](https://twitter.com/MidnightSinner5/status/1241396638255587330?s=09) IT IS BEAUTIFUL
> 
> ALSO there is amazing art of Claude feeding Felix wyvernfruit -- [behold it!](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare/status/1266434038933282817?s=20) Credit to @69natto on twitter for this, which is just GORGEOUS gah.


	5. scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix fights, loses, and also wins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all smut, what. CW: fighting, breathplay, hair pulling, face slapping, choking, the good stuff. Felix is into it, don't worry.
> 
> Thanks to Mxticketyboo and Freosan for betaing this :D
> 
> Please also look at the [Amazing NSFW art from this scene](https://twitter.com/LionheartNsfw/status/1266806151938822148) by @lionheartNSFW on twitter!

Claude makes him wait, kneeling there with his hands behind his back, while he puts all the breakfast things on the tray and carries it to the door. He steps out and presumably hands it to someone or puts it in the hall; Felix can’t find the energy to care which it is. 

He comes back over and tugs the tie out of Felix’s hair, running his fingers through it. “Why do you wear it long if you always put it up? Is that a Faerghus thing, or just a you being contrary thing?” 

Felix will never admit this -- or at least, he won’t until Claude makes him -- but he likes having his hair played with. A lot. He especially likes having it pulled, there’s something so viciously _primal_ about it. It makes him think about all that stuff Claude was saying about wyverns and reins, breaking him to the saddle. 

Unsurprisingly to either of them, what Felix says is, “I just have better things to do than cut it.” 

Claude threads his fingers through it and then tugs -- hard enough to pull Felix’s head back. “I can’t believe no one’s collared you yet.” 

Felix’s laugh is even harsher than normal. “You don’t mean that. You know why.” 

“But you’re so _pretty_ ,” Claude says, pulling on Felix’s hair so that his throat is bared. “You’re all flushed, your eyes are bright, your cock is hard, and your hands are _still_ behind your back even though I never told you to put them there. You don’t seem all that difficult to me.” 

Felix’s stomach gives an unpleasant lurch, a hot tangle of emotion caught up behind his eyes and in his throat. It’s the same feeling as when Claude bopped his nose, only a lot more intense this time. He pulls against the hold on his hair and tries to get to his feet. “Fuck _you_ , asshole, you want me to show you difficult?” 

“Yes, actually,” Claude says. “That’s what this is, Felix. You throw everything you’ve got at me and I handle it. Just like my beautiful, bitchy wyvern -- I showed her I could ride her, so, you know, you just go ahead and run with that metaphor.” 

“I’m not,” Felix grits out, “A _fucking_ wyvern.” 

“No, you’re not, are you? My wyverns are at least useful.” Claude’s voice is always tinged with the authority of his birthright, but there’s an added hint of cruelty in it, now, that Felix has never heard him use before. 

Felix goes still. Shame burns through him, because Claude is right. He’s not useful. He doesn’t have a sword, hasn’t even _asked_ for one. He’s just -- uselessly lying around like some pampered whore, waiting for a scrap of praise. As usual, his own fears won’t let him fall back and go under like Claude wants -- so instead, Felix fights. 

It takes all his effort, but Felix pulls his hands from behind his back. He reaches up, grabs Claude’s wrist with one hand, twisting and practically punching Claude behind his knees with his other forearm. 

Claude falls, but he does it with the grace of someone who knows exactly how to take a tumble and Felix has the completely irritating suspicion that he only managed the maneuver because Claude let him. 

Claude, who is now grinning at him from the floor. “Touched a nerve, did I?” He pulls the brightly colored scarf out of his hair and undoes the knot, sliding the silk between his hands. “That was a dirty move. I liked it.” He laughs. 

“Great.” Felix is torn between a flash of pride at earning Claude’s approval and annoyance at himself for caring. “I’m not useless. Give me a sword and I’ll show you.” 

“Sure. I hear you’re good. I’d like to spar sometime. Our swords aren’t like the ones in Fodlan. I’d love to see you fight with one.” Claude hops up to his feet, looking none the worse for wear, and holds his hand out. 

Felix ignores it and gets up without help. He rakes a hand through his hair, annoyed that he doesn’t have a tie to put it back up since Claude didn’t give it back. He can feel Claude watching him. “You said that on purpose. About me being useless.” 

“I say most things on purpose,” Claude answers. “You, on the other hand, don’t like to talk. This is me figuring you out.” He’s still holding the scarf, giving Felix a considering look. “You don’t like to be blindfolded. You don’t like when people think you’re useless.” 

“I don’t give a fuck what people think.” Felix crosses his arms. That’s more or less true. 

“Ah.” Claude’s smile grows wider. He looks very pleased with himself. “I get it.” That’s all he says. 

Felix is not going to ask. 

Claude’s watching him with those sly eyes and his clever smile. The silky material of his scarf slides between his fingers, bright gold and green. The afternoon sun is making the room too warm for Felix’s Faerghus blood, but he can’t deny how good Claude looks standing in it. 

Felix wants to kick himself. He’s going to ask. “What is it that you get?” 

“You think you’re not worth the effort it’s going to take to collar you.” Claude is faintly vibrating with energy. He’s so eager to do this. “And _you_ don’t like thinking you’re worthless.” 

“That’s what you think, is it?” Felix says, and surely Claude notices it’s not a disagreement. 

“I like to have all the necessary information in hand before I mount a campaign,” Claude says. 

Felix scoffs. “You and your metaphors. And you don’t do that, here. Collar people.” 

“Well. It’s not a traditional Almyran custom, no. But it’s not unheard of. Hilda has a collared sub. But let’s back up.” He studies Felix. “I wanted to see what would make you move your hands. You were under, so I figured it had to be something you hold in here.” Claude pats his chest, over his heart. 

Felix wonders briefly what Claude would have been like as a sub. Probably no less infuriating. Definitely just as clever. Of course Claude isn’t wrong. Who likes to feel useless? Felix is a warrior. A weapon. Weapons are meant to be wielded, not set aside to rust. 

“In Fodlan, you can’t just put your collar on someone. They have to want it. And just because someone is a sub doesn’t mean they want to - to be someone’s, like that.” Felix flicks his eyes to Claude’s, who is watching him intently -- still playing with that brightly colored scarf, but no longer smiling. “You can put me on my knees, yeah. You can put me under. But wearing someone’s collar is _my_ choice, not yours.” 

Claude is listening to him with all that intense focus of his. “I know. I learned all about it when I went there. Accepting it is your choice, and wanting to put it there is mine. Let’s back up, though. We’re getting way too ahead of ourselves. Right now, I’m just going to tie your arms behind your back with this scarf and make you suck me off.” 

Felix inhales a breath as Claude’s voice slides right back into authoritative, and he can’t deny that the idea of it, being restrained and used like that, is hot. His spine stiffens at the casual way Claude says it, though, like it’s a given. 

Claude holds up the scarf. Dust motes dance around him in the sunlight. “Wanna make me work for it?” 

Felix has literally never wanted anything more in his life. He nods. “Yeah.” 

“Good. I want to make something clear, though.” Claude walks over and Felix expects him to do that thing where he takes Felix’s chin in his fingers, but instead, Claude puts a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re useless. I’m just a bastard when I want to know something and I fight dirty.” 

Felix is absolutely not surprised by this information, nor does he doubt Claude’s sincerity. It doesn’t change anything, anyway; he knows what he is. What he’s done, and what he couldn’t do, no matter how hard he tried. What he gave up. 

Who he couldn’t save. 

Claude smacks him, almost lazily. “Come back, Felix. There we go. Can you answer one question for me before we do this?” 

Felix blows a few strands of hair out of his face. He wishes he could put it back up, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t mind having it there to hide behind. “What?” 

“I just need to know if I’m right about something.” 

Felix presses his fingers against the side of his face. Claude didn’t slap him very hard, so the brief sting of it is already mostly gone. “No, you just want to hear me say you’re right. Whatever it is, I’m sure you already believe it’s true.” 

Claude’s mouth quirks up. “Well. Someone thinks they’ve figured _me_ out. Fine, fine. I think I’m right, but the reason I want you to tell me isn’t because I want my ego stroked.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Claude shakes his head and looks up at the ceiling, and whatever he’s saying under his breath is not in the language they both speak. “I’m going to make you pay for this, you know. I’m going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours so hard you _cry_ , Felix.” 

Felix goes rigid at the very thought, face burning, but his cock is hard and his mouth goes dry. 

“Pain settles you down, yeah? Physical pain, that is.” 

Felix doesn’t look at him when he says, “What other kind is there?” 

“Nice try, but we both know what _other kind_ there is. I used it on you when I made you knock me to the ground a minute ago. Well?” 

Felix sighs, but he inclines his head just slightly. “You’re not wrong.” 

“Such a graceful admission. Now, let’s do this. I have been thinking about how good you’re going to look with my cock in your mouth, how you’ll sound when I choke you with it.” Claude takes a step toward him. “You don’t _have_ to fight if you don’t want to. You can just kneel right now.” 

Sure. And he could also spin around three times in a circle and turn into a completely different person. Someone with tidy blond hair and a sunny disposition. “You forget who I am, if you think you can offer me a fight then take it away.” 

“You Faerghans.” Claude shakes his head, his voice rueful. “Ah, well.” He takes a quick step forward and grabs Felix by the shirt, pulling him in and kissing him. “Fight me, then. I’ll put you under, don’t worry.” 

Felix kisses him back, but then he shoves him, hard, pushing him away. It feels good to work off some of the energy thrumming through him like so much built up magic. He absolutely refuses to admit that having _permission_ to fight back is part of why he’s looking forward to this. 

Claude moves back when Felix pushes him...with a graceful, acrobatic little leap like the archer he is. 

Felix is surprised to hear himself laugh. It’s his usual laugh, the little huff of sound that’s barely there before it’s gone. “You’re showing off.” 

“That? That was nothing.” Claude puts his hands behind his head and grins. “I’ve got a lot of tricks, don’t worry. You want to take those clothes off? We wouldn’t want them to get messed up.” 

“They’re not mine,” Felix says. Tension stretches between them, and it’s not unpleasant. Felix rolls his shoulders, looks around the room, tries to get his head wrapped around how he apparently gets to have both a fight _and_ Claude’s cock in his mouth. If he trusts Claude enough to go under for him. 

Can Felix trust him? He thinks he can. He _wants_ to, which is something. 

“What if I told you those were the only clothes you’re allowed to have? And if I have to cut them off you and they’re ruined, you won’t get another pair?” 

“I wouldn’t believe you,” Felix says, immediately. “You said I’m not a prisoner so that must mean I can leave this room. Would you let me do that naked?” 

“Let you, huh,” Claude says, grinning outright. 

Goddess, he’s so _infuriating_. Felix puts one hand on his hip and then turns his head away, nose in the air, other hand reaching down instinctively to rest on the pommel of a sword that isn’t there. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Claude says, a smile in his voice. “Look at you, haughty little noble, pretending you wouldn’t _love_ to be kept naked for me whenever I wanted.” 

Felix does not turn to look at him. Claude’s fucking voice is enough; if Felix looked at him, he might actually give it up right now and strip. “I do not want to be naked for you all the time.” 

“No? I could make you like it. Give me two days.” 

The thing is, he’s probably right. Felix has never let himself have his needs attended to regularly, but sometimes, when the urge to submit got a bit too much, he’d think about what it might be like to trust someone enough to make him do it on a regular basis. Felix would lay on his stomach in bed, face shoved into the pillow and one hand on his cock, fucking his fist while he thought about all the things he’d never admit wanting someone to do to him.

Being forced to walk around constantly naked wasn’t something he’d come up with (impractical, given where he’d grown up), but someone taking their pleasure of him whenever they wanted? He’d tell anyone who dared ask that he’d die before he’d let it happen, but the fantasy of it got him off plenty of times. And Claude, with his freakishly accurate ability to read Felix like his favorite book, somehow just _knows_.

“So,” Claude says, walking over and getting all up in Felix’s space. He smells good, like outside and sweat and something clean and spicy. “Wanna make it easy so we can get to the good stuff?” He dangles the scarf up like they’re kids playing a game, and Felix isn’t immune to the taunt so he reaches out to grab it. 

Claude pulls it away with a laugh. “No? All right, then.” 

Felix rushes him, used to taking lead in battle given his skillset. Felix gets in close and throws an elbow while he tries hooking Claude’s ankle to throw him off balance. He’s not even sure what he has to do to win this fight, but he decides the objective is getting the scarf. Like the old “capture the flag” game they used play in Faerghus as children, where all their games mimicked warfare in some way or another. 

“Oof,” Claude grunts, after a particularly sharp jab to his gut. “You’re as pointy as your sword and as sharp as your cheekbones.” He ducks and throws his shoulder at Felix’s back, grabs his hair and winds it around his hand, then pulls hard and hooks Felix’s ankle with his foot to get Felix falling forward. 

Felix swears but it’s no use; Claude’s wyvern metaphor wasn’t too far off, he really is good at subduing wriggling, angry and bitey creatures, which absolutely describes Felix at the moment. 

Felix recalls a bandit rout back in Fraldarius territory during the war when he managed to fight two bandits who were trying to stab him. Granted, they were starving and desperate men, not well-trained, deadly fighters like Claude, but he didn’t give up then and he’s not doing it now, either. 

Even if having Claude straddling his back is a lot nicer, with his muscled wyvern-rider’s thighs on either side of Felix’s hips, impossible to dislodge. 

Felix can barely see through his stupid _hair_ \-- he is cutting it the second someone gives him a sword, and he means it, this time -- and his fingers scrabble uselessly at the slick tile floor as he tries to buck Claude off him. 

“This really _is_ like breaking a wyvern to the saddle,” Claude says, breathing hard but sounding _cheerful_ as he grabs Felix’s hair in both hands. “I could get off like this. I’m going to, at some point. You feel so good beneath me. That’s it, fight me -- I could do this all day.” 

Felix is both turned on and annoyed, he’s lying in borrowed clothes on a tile floor, hair loose and either in his face or being pulled like they’re reins -- by Claude von Riegan, the king of Almyra, who is seated on his back like Felix really is a some untamed wyvern just brought to his stable. And he can tell Claude is turned on, because those pants he’s wearing are way too tight to hide anything and he’s pressed right up against Felix’s lower back. 

Claude leans down and slams one hand on the floor next to Felix’s face, his mouth very close to Felix’s ear. “Do you yield?” 

Felix snaps his head back, hard, trying to break Claude’s nose. “Never.” 

It almost works, but his head collides with Claude’s chin instead -- no matter. Felix turns his head and tries to bite Claude on the wrist, getting his feet against the floor and trying to use his strength and momentum to throw Claude off him. 

It doesn’t work. Claude just uses his strong thighs to hold his grip around Felix’s hips and grabs one of Felix’s arms, twisting it around his back and holding it. They struggle for a bit, but it’s only a matter of time before Claude gets the other wrist and yanks it back, too. 

“Do you _yield_?” Claude pants, and he’s clearly winded. 

Not as winded as Felix, who is breathing hard with sweat stinging his eyes, his body aching from the fall and all his struggling and knocking parts of his limbs against the tiled floor. “No.” 

“Of course not.” Claude snorts a laugh as Felix tries, unsuccessfully, to kick his leg up and hit Claude. Somewhere. He doesn’t even care where it is. “I won, admit it.” 

Like hell. Felix tries rolling his body weight (Claude can stay atop a _wyvern_ in the _air_ , he is not going to knock Claude off if Claude doesn’t want to go), he pulls at his arms, he shifts his legs uselessly trying to get some traction on his boots. Claude is strong, but his real skill is his ability to move with Felix’s thrashing and just hold on. To _outlast_. 

But Felix has one last thing he can try; his major crest, and while it typically only enhances his skill with a weapon in hand, he can feel it gathering in the air all around them; the curious taste of ozone and the slight ring in his ears as he pulls at whatever old magic is infused in his bloodline…

But there’s nothing. No burst of strength, no bright flash, no familiar lines of his family’s crest etched like the trail of a shooting star in the sky. Just the build-up and no release, because for some reason his body must not think having a smug-as-fuck king on his back is any cause for alarm. 

“Mm, I know what you’re doing,” Claude says, amused, and he’s shifted so that he’s got Felix’s arms pinned with his body weight and one hand, the other around the back of Felix’s neck so he can shove Felix’s face into the floor. “Trying to summon that major crest, hmm? Well, I know a few things about how that works -- yours is one of those pesky warrior crests, right? Old Fraldy was, what, some kind of falcon knight or something? Anyway, it’s only going to show up when you’re threatened, or in battle. I guess your body knows I’m here to make you feel good. Oh, and also, that if this was a battle...I already won.” 

Felix keeps trying, but no amount of concentrating will make his fucking crest manifest. And he can’t lie and say that he feels threatened -- at least in the sense that he thinks he’s going to die. But he thinks he’s going to maybe, possibly, commit regicide against the King of Almyra and shouldn’t _that_ make his body feel just a little threatened? 

Apparently not. His crest remains inactive, and Felix remains twitching on the floor under Claude’s weight, hot face pressed against the tiles. 

“Gonna keep fighting me?” Claude asks, fingers tightening on Felix’s neck. “You can if you want.” He pushes Felix’s hair away from his neck, leans down and replaces his hand with his mouth. 

Shivers race down Felix’s spine. The ozone-taste is gone, the weird bright electric-static pulse of magic fades, and Felix pants against the tile floor and gives another experimental buck of his hips. It’s as effective as everything else, meaning that it isn’t. 

“I’m going to tie your hands,” Claude says, against the back of Felix’s neck. “Fight if you want. I asked if you yielded. I didn’t say you had to.” 

Felix sucks in a breath, but before he can do anything Claude bites him hard enough to make Felix’s body tense immediately. He can’t move his hands but he can -- and does -- kick his feet against the floor as the pain from the bite washes over him. 

Claude breaks skin, Felix can feel it when it happens. His short, sharp cry is muffled by the floor, and he’s finding it hard to breathe. Claude finally lets him up and Felix fills his starved lungs, the back of his neck still aching from Claude’s bite. 

“You get it now, right? I can make you keep your hands behind your back by telling you to do it, and I can fight you and put them there myself.” He slips the silk over Felix’s wrists, tying them. “You’re strong. I’m stronger. Ready to admit it?” 

Felix is practically inhaling his own hair at this point. “No.” It’s so hard to fight against Claude’s dominance, though, because Felix _fought_ and he _lost_. Felix’s body is starting to relax despite himself. He’s sore and uncomfortable and sweaty, but it honestly feels like he’s just lost a satisfying sparring match against a capable opponent.

Who’s turned on and pressing his erection against Felix’s back. 

“Felix, are you laughing?” Claude’s weight is suddenly gone, and Felix turns to see him moving so that he’s now kneeling in front of Felix’s prone body. He pulls Felix’s head up with a grip on Felix’s impossibly messy hair, and he looks -- well, he’s not unaffected, his own hair is sticking up every which way and curling from the sweat, but he’s smiling. 

“No.” Felix tugs his wrists, but the silk has them bound too tight. “I always had a weakness for grappling.” 

“Uh-huh.” Claude starts moving, pulling Felix after him by his hair. Without the use of his hands, he has to scramble up on his knees to match Claude’s pace as he crosses the room. “I’m thinking about all the people who must have gotten it wrong, with you. You’re physically very strong, so, probably people think the best way to get you to submit is to overpower you. They don’t get you’re a swordsman, and you like a good duel. You respect someone who can best you.” 

Felix can’t really respond to this, as he’s too busy concentrating on being dragged across the room by his hair. They don’t go far, though, with Claude falling into a low padded chair near the window and finally letting go of Felix’s hair. Felix is on his knees between Claude’s spread legs, and for a few long moments the only sound is that of Felix catching his breath. 

“As much as I like your hair like that, I’m going to pull it back so I can see your face while you suck me.” Claude leans forward and reaches out for his hair, gathering it up and trying to untangle it with his fingers. 

Felix closes his eyes, sways a bit forward, and for a few long minutes all he can feel is Claude’s fingers in his hair. Instead of a ponytail or a topknot, though, he braids it and ties the end with the tie he removed earlier. When it’s done, Felix is glad to have it out of his face but it also feels like he longer has anywhere to hide. 

“There we go. Much better.” Claude takes his chin in his fingers and tilts his face up. He looks very pleased with himself. “I got my workout in for the day, that’s for sure.” 

“Pathetic,” Felix says, but he can feel himself smiling, just a bit. 

“Oh, ho!” Claude laughs, and Felix is under enough that it makes him feel good to hear it. “What, you’re saying you made it easy on me? I don’t think you’ve ever done that in your entire life, with anyone.” 

Felix shrugs. “Who said I was done?” 

Claude grins and leans in, kissing him -- and then giving his lower lip a bite. Felix bites him right back, and he can feel the brief curve of Claude’s smile against his mouth before he pulls back, reaching around to poke at the knotted silk of his scarf tying Felix’s wrists. “Sometimes silk can be dangerous for this, but don’t worry. I have a dagger if it gets too tight. You’re a swordsman, we wouldn’t want anything happening to your wrists. But this should do. I don’t think it’ll take very long, not with how you made me work for it.” 

Felix smiles, eyes flicking up to Claude’s face. “Did I? Good.” 

“That’s the second time you’ve smiled in, like, five minutes,” Claude says, grinning outright as he leans back in the chair. He rubs a hand over himself through the leather of his pants and Felix watches as he undoes the laces, slowly. “Is that -- mm, look how hard you’ve gotten me -- a record?” 

“Yeah,” Felix manages. “Probably.” 

Claude’s laugh hitches easily into a moan as he strokes himself, and Felix can’t look away from how good he looks, languid and easy, throwing one leg up and over the arm of the chair. “So, here we are. Regardless of how it happened, you’re on your knees and you’re going to suck my cock. And you want to, don’t you?” 

This is always the hardest part for Felix; he’s fine admitting he wants to fight, but admitting he wants Claude to use his mouth, it’s not easy to admit it to _himself_ , much less Claude. He’s under enough though that it’s not as difficult as it might be. “Yeah.” 

Claude’s breath catches. “I made you admit it? I really did win. Come here.” He tugs Felix forward with his hand on the back of Felix’s neck, but Felix is leaning forward of his own volition. Claude’s cock is thick and hard, curved and flushed with pre-come already making the tip slick. 

Felix’s mouth is open. Claude laughs and sinks fingers in Felix’s braid, messing up his own efforts. “Eager, are you?” Felix flushes hot but he can’t deny it, though he does make a huffy sort of sound when Claude smacks him on the face with his cock. It’s -- silly, or it should be, but it makes Felix suck in a breath and that’s when Claude gives him his cock. 

There’s no teasing build-up, either; he takes Felix’s head in his hands and pulls him forward, moaning loudly as he goes deep right from the first. It makes Felix choke because he hasn’t done this in a very long time and he didn’t expect Claude to start right off with it this hard. But maybe that’s what it’s for, to make him stop trying to outhink, out-maneuver, anticipate, control. 

“That’s it, take it for me,” Claude says, voice heavy with arousal. “Look at me, I want you to see how much I like it.” 

Shivers run through Felix at that, but he lifts his gaze and is caught by how Claude looks, every inch a king taking what he’s earned, his mouth wet and parted and curled up in that enigmatic little smile of his, the one Felix only ever saw at Garreg Mach when Claude didn’t think anyone was looking. 

His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils dilated, and his hips are lifting slightly up off the chair as he drags Felix in and fucks his throat. “Gods, yes,” Claude moans, because apparently he isn’t going to stop talking. “You’re so good at this, totally worth it.” 

Felix can’t hold Claude’s gaze for very long. He shifts on his knees and hears himself choke as Claude starts to speed up his pace. He’s loud even when he’s not talking, occasionally muttering a few words but mostly just moaning. 

His cock is a heavy weight on Felix’s tongue, and while he wouldn’t say he’s got any sort of technique when it comes to this sort of thing, it doesn’t really matter even if he did. Claude’s controlling everything about it; how deep his cock hits in the back of Felix’s throat, how long Felix has to catch his breath, how fast he thrusts in and out of Felix’s mouth. 

“Gonna make you choke, yeah,” Claude mutters, clearly into it. That feels good, too. To know he’s doing it just like Claude wants, or taking it just like Claude wants. “Relax, that’s it, don’t fight me.” 

Felix didn’t think he was fighting, but he struggles to breathe as much as he can and relax his throat, but apparently it’s still not quite enough. He glances back up at Claude as if trying to convey _what else do you want from me_ with his eyes alone -- Felix wants to do it. But he doesn’t know what _it_ is. 

Claude does, though. He gives that same little gasping laugh and says, “Cry for me,” and then he digs his fingers into Felix’s braid, hard, and slams his head down on his cock. 

Felix chokes, and then he gags, and he starts struggling when it’s clear that Claude’s not letting him up. Felix kicks his feet and tries to pull away -- eventually Claude lets him ease back to breathe, but then he does it again, makes Felix choke on his cock until he gags. Felix kicks, and pulls, and then Claude lets go. 

“Stop fighting,” Claude says again, and then Felix gets it. 

It doesn’t happen the next time, or even the next -- Felix can’t quite give it up, even though he can hear Claude’s voice murmuring things like _give it up_ and _let go_ and _trust me_. Felix has tears pouring down his face from choking, and he’s sure he’s a goddess-awful mess. And finally, Claude yanks him forward and holds him with that tight grip, _just like reins on a wyvern_ , and for some reason this is when Felix just...lets him do it. 

He chokes, he gags, his vision goes hazy and he can’t hear anything but Claude’s moans, muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat roaring in his ears. The point comes where he worries that he’s going to lose consciousness and pass out, everything wavering dangerously, but he doesn’t kick or pull, he just lets it happen. 

Claude pulls his cock out of Felix’s mouth, and Felix slumps forward as best he can, gasping through his tears and the mess on his face, hauling in ugly gasps and his chest heaving. He vaguely hears Claude say something and Claude grabs him by the messy remains of his braid, yanks his face up -- and Felix has about two seconds to understand what’s going to happen. 

Claude’s stroking his spit-slick cock, hard and fast, and then he’s coming all over Felix’s face. 

Felix closes his eyes and takes it. He has never, in his entire life, let anyone do this to him on his face. His back, his ass, maybe -- but no one else. Even the last time, when Felix tried so hard to make it good, make it perfect, hoping that if he just gave up everything then it would matter. 

It hadn’t mattered, but _he_ hadn’t done this, either. And _he_ certainly hadn’t pulled Felix close and smoothed his fingers over the tears and come on his face, then shoved his fingers into Felix’s mouth -- gently -- so Felix could lick them clean. 

Claude is saying something, but whatever it is, Felix can’t understand it. It occurs to him belatedly that it’s because whatever Claude’s saying, it’s in Almyran. He’s not meant to understand the meaning, just the tone, which is pleased and complimentary. When Claude eases Felix’s head down to rest on his thigh, Felix closes his eyes and lets him. 

Claude pets his hair. Felix drifts, vaguely annoyed in some far-off way about his face and that it’s still a mess, but he can feel Claude’s fingers and hear him still talking and saying whatever it he’s saying, and it’s -- good. Amazing. In this moment he can’t imagine why he’s never let someone earn this from him. It feels like it’s supposed to feel. 

“You,” Claude says, in the language they share, “are amazing. That was amazing. I _feel_ amazing. I’m sure there are some other words but I don’t know what they are. I’m sure they’re also amazing.” 

Felix rubs his face against Claude’s thigh. He’s settled and quiet, Claude’s hand playing with his hair and the other around the back of his neck. Normally he would tell Claude something like _you’re ridiculous_ , but instead, he just breathes, and lets Claude pet his hair, and drifts in the hard-won quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Claude gives Felix a reward, and the Queen of Almyra pays a visit to her husband's new friend :D


	6. reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude gives Felix a reward for good behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: grinding, some hair pulling, dirty talk. 
> 
> This was both smuttier and longer than I meant it to be, but Claude insisted Felix deserved it and who am I to argue? 
> 
> Thanks as always to Mxticketyboo and Freosan! And thank you to everyone who is enjoying the story -- I'm super enjoying writing it!

Claude is _immeasurably_ pleased with himself. 

Felix’s face is slick with sweat and tears and come, and it’s pressed against Claude’s pants and he’s so, so relaxed. Under enough that he’s lightly rubbing his face on Claude’s thigh like a happy cat, or a wyvern after a good flight rolling in the dirt. Maybe more that first one. 

His braid is a mess, though. Claude was too turned on to really take his time with it, and Felix has some seriously strange hair. It seems to go in six directions all at once, and none of them want to work together. How completely not surprising. Claude smiles to himself as he reaches down to undo it. 

After a few long, quiet moments where he pets Felix’s hair, Claude starts to think about moving. He’s not a creature of stillness. Patience, maybe, given his preferred fighting style and tendency to lurk in the underbrush. But stillness, not really. He’s always had to be quick. 

It’s been a while since he’s gotten to put someone under like this, so naturally, Claude’s usual energy is magnified tenfold. And he can tell when Felix starts moving a little -- not trying to get away, and probably not anything he’d even be aware he was doing, but Claude can pick up on the subtle cues that Felix is probably getting uncomfortable. 

“Felix, hey. How about we clean you up a little, huh?” 

Felix nods, miracle of miracles, and Claude actually pats himself on the back since he’s so proud of himself. Felix didn’t make it easy, but damn. He shivers at just the memory of how it had felt to choke him with his cock, to watch him give in and go under, to come all over that pretty face of his. 

“Okay.” Claude pets Felix’s head again. He slides off the chair and draws Felix up, supporting him so he can work the knots out of the silk scarf. He might have left his wrists tied a little too long -- definitely have to use rope, next time. 

Felix gives a low hiss when Claude gets his hands free and he can move his arms, which are probably cramped from being tied back. “Here, let me. I was kidnapped four times before I was six,” Claude says, rubbing at Felix’s arms. “I’m pretty sure it was by the same people, too. They never got any better at hogtying a scrawny kid, so. Sore arms everywhere.” 

Felix is still too far gone in subspace to really ask questions, but he lolls his head back against Claude’s shoulder and just. Blinks at him. 

“I had a weird childhood. Can you imagine, people weren’t so into the crown prince being half-Fodlan? Lucky for me, I was small and quick.” 

Felix looks thoughtful, as if he’s turning this over in his head. Claude finishes rubbing the soreness from his arms and helps him stand and walks him over to the bed. “Can you get out of your clothes? If not, I’ll do it. I thought you might want your face clean first, though.” 

Felix nods and goes to undo his shirt, so Claude goes into the bathing room and gathers up some supplies. By the time he’s back, Felix is in nothing but his pants, barefoot and shirtless. He seems to be fine, but Claude also thinks maybe he shouldn’t have left him alone. 

Felix doesn’t _seem_ like the type to need constant physical touch, but he raises no resistance when Claude wipes his face with the cloth; going so far as to lean in closer while Claude does it. 

Once Felix is clean, Claude reaches out and draws his fingers down Felix’s chest. He’s incredibly fair-skinned like most of the people who live in his frozen hellscape of a country, though it’s an admittedly lovely contrast with his inky dark hair. Claude secretly thinks that Felix wears his hair up because wearing it down softens his features, makes his upturned nose and pretty eyes somehow more delicate. 

“You seem relaxed,” Claude says, tracing Felix’s sharp collarbones. His cock is hard in his pants, but if he’s in a hurry to do something about it, Claude can’t tell. He has a feeling Felix is more interested in the part where he’s relaxed than aroused. 

Felix nods, still silent. 

“You can talk if you want,” Claude offers. “You don’t _have_ to, but you can. I definitely talk enough for the two of us.” He’s delighted when he sees the uptick of Felix’s mouth, the slightest suggestion of a smile. 

Felix just shakes his head, though, and Claude remembers that he’s not one for words -- actions probably will suit him better. “ _Is_ there something you want?” 

He doesn’t expect this to work - Felix just indicated he didn’t want to talk - so he’s surprised when Felix actually reaches a hand out, as if he’s going to touch Claude. He doesn’t, though, just lets it hover there for a second. 

Claude catches his hand and squeezes it, charmed. Who knew prickly, fighty Felix had this lovely soft chewy center? “You want to touch me?” 

Felix surprises him by answering, though his gaze is still on the floor. “Yeah. Last time, though….” he trails off. 

Ah. “I didn’t let you, I know. This time I will.” Claude gallantly kisses Felix’s hand. “I’m pretty happy, I’d give you whatever you wanted right about now. Want a small, relatively unimportant estate in the northern Almyran deserts? What it lacks in charm and minerals it makes up for in, um. Sunsets?” 

Felix actually _smiles_. “You sure sell that well, but I’ll pass.” 

“Probably smart, no one’s lived there for a while. Okay, how about a wyvern? I can find a nice one. Easy-going. Well. No, probably not, but I can give you one that’s real old and missing some teeth if you want.” 

Felix shakes his head, and lays a careful touch on Claude’s shoulder. “I like cats. That’s about it as far as animals go.” 

“Felix!” Claude gasps. “I must have done quite a number on you, if you just admitted to actually liking something.” 

“You did.” Felix sounds completely honest and without any of his usual acerbic bite. He’s also lightly stroking Claude’s shoulder, as if Claude is a cat. It’s sort of cute. He glances up briefly. “I, ah. Want to touch you, but I’m…” he gives a shake of his head. 

What a bundle of complexities he is. Claude probably shouldn’t be the one to talk when it comes to that -- he’s always been underestimated but half the time it’s because he himself made sure of it, even though it annoyed him when it worked. Other people’s prejudiceness were all too easy to exploit, as depressing as that was to think about. “Yeah. I know. It’s okay. But, real quick, by _touch_ , do you just mean pet me? That’s fine if it’s all you want, but let’s make that clear.” 

Felix shakes his head, and in a voice made raspy from a what a _good job_ he did sucking Claude’s cock he says, “No. It’s not all I want.” 

Claude would bet his entire kingdom that Felix has _no idea_ how sexy that sounds. He steps back and undoes his vest, then sits on the bed and unlaces his boots, setting them -- and the dagger he has strapped in the sheath -- to the side. It leaves him in only his pants and his shirt, so he spreads his arms out and says, “You should get the full experience, then.” 

Felix huffs, but he steps forward and starts with the laces on Claude’s shirt. It’s for riding, so it’s tighter than a normal tunic, and belted twice low around his hips. “You put me under just for a valet, is that it?” 

“Yeah, it’s a weird hiring method, but it sure is fun.” Claude watches as Felix finishes with the laces and then attends to the belts, which is just one leather strap wrapped twice around him. Felix tosses it to the side and then tugs on Claude’s shirt. 

He pulls it up and off and also tosses it to the side, then reaches down for the fastening of Claude’s leather riding pants. He glances up, waiting. 

Claude smiles. “Go ahead.” 

Felix gets his pants unbuttoned, but they’re tight enough that Claude has to help him get them all the way off. When he’s naked, he climbs up on the bed and lies back with his hands behind his head. “I’m all yours, Felix.” 

Felix hesitates just for a moment before he takes off his own pants, and his cock is hard between his legs. He climbs on the bed, his fair skin flushed, and idly pushes his hair out of his face. He levels Claude with a stare. Felix might be under, but he’s just as intense as ever. 

_Gods, he’s beautiful._

“I meant it,” Claude says, seeing his hesitation. “Go ahead. Anything you do, I’m going to like. Don’t worry. You don’t have to ask unless you want to, which, I’ll be honest, I’m going to be pretty surprised if you do, actually, want to ask.” 

Felix gives that small little smile of his again and climbs on top of Claude, settling over his hips. He runs his hands down Claude’s chest, over his shoulders, his arms. His cock is hot against Claude’s hip, when he leans down and presses his mouth to Claude’s. As hesitant as he’d seemed at first, that seems to have vanished; there’s nothing but surety in the way he touches Claude, kisses him. 

Claude kisses him back, easy as anything, running a hand up and down Felix’s back. Felix’s mouth is warm, and he’s so _sweet_ like this, letting himself do what he wants. Claude feels something kick around in his chest, a heady feeling that he’s not going to examine too closely until later, when the adrenaline rush of putting Felix under has faded a bit. 

“I don’t like talking,” Felix says, shifting, mouthing at Claude’s neck. “I’m not good at it. You are, though.” 

Claude gives a pleased _hmm_ and tilts his head so Felix has more room. “Is that your Felix-way of telling me you want me to talk while you do this?” 

A brief hint of a smile against his neck, then a nip -- not a bite, not like the one Claude put on the back of Felix’s neck, but it makes Claude shiver all the same. “Maybe,” says Felix, and then, “Yeah.” 

“Mmm. I can do that. You want to hear how much I like you on top of me? I like how hard you are, knowing that’s because of me. Of how good I took care of you.” 

Felix presses his face harder into the curve of Claude’s neck and huffs out a warm breath. “Ah.” 

“What? That wasn’t the kind of talking you meant?” Claude tugs his hair, lightly this time, to raise his head. Felix is blushing. 

That thing kicks around his chest some more, and Claude knows it means he is probably in a lot of trouble, here. That’s ever stopped him before. 

“You like it,” Claude insists, pushing Felix’s hair back. “Maybe it makes you embarrassed, but you still like it.” 

“Ugh,” says Felix, making a face. Considering he’s grinding himself against Claude’s hip, his cock slick and growing slicker, Claude isn’t taking it personally. “I guess you’re okay at it.” 

Claude laughs. “What a flatterer.” He lets go of Felix’s hair, and Felix goes back to touching him. He seems perfectly content to ignore his own erection even though Claude would be impatient as fuck -- he’s actually starting to get hard again -- to get off. 

Felix, though. Claude supposes if he’s good at anything, it’s denying himself. He seems content, anyway, to kiss down Claude’s chest, run his hands up and down Claude’s thighs and give them a squeeze. He looks up at Claude, holds his gaze for a bit, then ducks and mumbles something Claude can’t quite hear. 

“What was that?” Claude pushes up on his elbows, smiling down at him. “I didn’t quite catch what you were saying, there, Felix.” 

Felix mumbles it again into Claude’s lower stomach, breath ghosting over his skin. 

Claude decides to use his powers for evil and, using the voice that Felix won’t be able to disobey, says, “Look at me and say it again.” 

Felix bites at Claude’s abdominal muscles with a sound like a growl, and Claude’s cock twitches as much from that as the way Felix looks when he raises his head and glares at Claude through the fall of his hair. “I said. You’re so hot. There. Happy?” 

“Mmhmm,” Claude says. “Very. Can’t you tell? I like compliments.” 

“You didn’t get enough, in school?” 

Blinking, Claude’s smile falls off as he realizes that Felix is serious. “What? You do know no one liked me at school, right?” 

“No one liked _me_ at school,” Felix says, tracing the outline of Claude’s muscles with his tongue. “I made sure of it. I thought everybody liked you.” 

That’s so -- so _wrong_ , Claude falls back on the mattress and just sort of laughs. “No. No, they really didn’t. Even in my own house, that wasn’t true. You didn’t notice that people either thought I was up to something or scheming?” 

Felix glances up. “Weren’t you?” 

“Maybe, but do you know who else was? _Edelgard_ , and who saw that coming?” Claude shakes his head. “I smiled a lot, sure. I was superficially friendly. The only thing people like less than an outsider is an outsider they don’t trust. You saw how everyone treated Dedue.” The difference being, Dedue only cared about Dimitri and fulfilling his oath to him. 

Claude had loftier goals, and an Alliance full of squabbling lords to manage. He had to make people at least _tolerate_ him. 

Felix might have been taciturn and unapproachable, but he was the son of the second-most powerful noble in the Kingdom of Faerghus. He and Dimitri might not have gotten along for whatever reason, but Felix was still seen as part of Dimitri’s inner circle. Felix was a Faerghus noble with a major crest and heir to a dukedom. Being a submissive was unusual, certainly, but it wasn’t like he didn’t _look_ the part. 

And wasn’t that all too often what mattered? 

“I guess it’s hard to imagine people not liking you.” Felix says, to Claude’s chest. His face is bright red. Even his ears. 

It’s cute. Very cute, and it soothes part of an old ache; that he’s never belonged anywhere, no matter if it’s in Almyra or Fodlan. That he’s unworthy, or that he’ll have to work six times as hard to prove himself just because he’s not like everyone else -- either because of the color of skin, his eyes, the questions about his background, whatever else. 

“Do you like me?” Claude asks, and he tries to make it teasing, like he might have, once, at school. 

Felix meets his eyes at that. His own narrow just a little. “The dominant who put me under wouldn’t need to ask. I like him, yeah.” 

Claude inhales a sharp breath, but the smile he gives Felix is much more real. “I couldn’t have been him, at school.” 

“It’s hard to fight against who you are,” Felix says, after a moment. “I should know.” 

That’s so startlingly self-perceptive that Claude laughs outright. “It is, yeah. The number of times I wanted to let the old kingly authority -- well, princely authority, back then -- out on half my housemates was a lot. Believe me.” 

“I do.” Felix moves with his swordsman’s grace, so he’s on all fours over Claude, his hair swinging gently as he looks down at him. “This is why I don’t talk. All I wanted to do was make you feel good. Give you a compliment. Now you’re thinking about unpleasant things. It’s my fucking gift.” 

That’s a lot of words in a row for Felix. Claude knows it’s only because Felix is so far under that he’s bothering to even explain, and he draws Felix close and kisses him soundly. “It did make me feel good.” Claude pulls on his hair. “It’s probably a good thing that I didn’t know you were so eager to be put on your knees and choked with a cock, Felix. I might not have been able to help myself, back at school.” 

It’s Claude’s way of gently easing the conversation into less fraught territory. He doesn’t mind talking about this, and is in fact encouraged that Felix would _want_ to, but he also doesn’t think talking about politics and xenophobia is what Felix had in mind as a reward for letting Claude put him under. 

“I might have let you,” Felix says, though Claude is certain he’s teasing. 

Claude reaches out and gets a hand around Felix’s cock. It makes Felix moan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I’m in such a good mood, I’m going to let you choose how you want to get off. Any requests?” 

He isn’t sure what Felix is going to ask for, if he’s even able to ask for what he wants when it comes to something that is only intended to feel good. Felix goes hot again, all over, splotchy and red even on his chest. He looks away, inhales slowly, and Claude strokes his cock as an incentive because there’s clearly something Felix wants. Claude waits, patiently, for him to ask. 

“I….” a soft, quiet mumble. 

“Felix,” Claude chides him, gently. “I’m giving you a reward because I want to, so you don’t need to worry about this. Just tell me what you want.” 

“I want to --” He shifts so he’s lying flush against Claude, his cock -- fuck, he’s so _hard_ \-- up against Claude’s, and starts moving against him. “Like this. Make me come like this.” 

“Now, was that so bad?” Claude enjoys the little shivers of pleasure that run up his spine when Felix grinds against him. “Mm. Yeah, this’ll be good but -- one second, let’s do this right.” He gives Felix a thorough kiss and does a complicated, wriggling duck-and-roll maneuver to get the oil from the bedside table. He hands it to Felix with an expectant look and a wink, then settles back against the pillows and tugs Felix to kneel over him again. 

“Go on. Give me a good show.” 

Felix gets some of the oil on his fingers and then reaches down to slick himself up. His head goes back and he moans, hand working over his cock and looking almost sinfully sexy while doing it. 

When he offers the vial to Claude, Claude shakes his head and says, “You do it.” 

Felix does, and Claude grows harder in his hand, enjoying the way Felix handles him with oil-slicked, calloused fingers. When he’s finished he stretches out top of him again, kissing Claude with an eager, unrestrained passion that says just how much Felix is under, how much he’s into this. 

Felix starts grinding against him, and Claude curves his palms over Felix’s ass and urges him on. Felix has his face pressed up against Claude’s neck again, as if he’s trying to get as close as he can while he gets off. 

One of Felix’s hands curls around Claude’s shoulder, the other braced on the wall to help him grind. Claude turns his head so he can talk close to Felix’s ear, encourage him to move faster, harder, tell him how good it feels. 

“I’m going to fuck you -- not right now, but soon,” Claude tells him, bucking up hard in perfect rhythm with Felix, who is fucking against Claude’s cock mindlessly, erratic and so, so _hot_. “And you’re going to like it, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Felix pants, fingers digging into his shoulder. 

“You’ll -- mm, you can go harder -- you’ll take it so good for me, won’t you? Just like you took my cock in your mouth?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, again, his whole body shuddering. “Fuck --” 

Claude grabs his hair and pulls his head back, enough to say in a pleasure-soaked voice, “Don’t forget, you have to ask me before I’ll let you come.” 

Felix’s eyes are blurry and his pupils are dilated, his face damp with sweat, his hair a mess. He hasn’t stopped moving against Claude, his hips driving forward over and over. He’s shaking, as if he’s trying to hold himself back. 

“You can ask anytime,” Claude says. “Don’t think you have to wait for me.” 

“Pull my hair,” Felix gasps. 

“Say please and I will,” Claude says, threading his fingers through the dark black strands. He gives it a very gentle tug. 

Felix makes a noise, then growls, “Pull my hair. _Please_.” 

Claude pulls his hair, and Felix’s head goes back and he _moans_ , loud and satisfying. 

“Harder, please,” Felix gasps, and he’s so impossibly hot like this, hair a mess and eyes wild, mouth parted and his entire body burning up everywhere it presses against Claude’s. 

Claude pulls Felix’s hair harder. “You want to come for me? You do, don’t you, you’ve been so good, waiting for it. Ask me, Felix, it’s going to feel so good -” 

Felix makes this gorgeous sound, so close to a wail that Claude almost can’t believe it’s Felix making it. “Please, can I -- can I -- let me --” 

Claude is so entranced he’s hardly even aware of how hard _he_ is, now, just from the way Felix is going to pieces on top of him. He’s sending Edelgard the nicest, sweetest, most gentle wyvern they have in the stables. Wrapped in silk. A wyvern made entirely out of silk! He doesn’t even want this to end, it’s so good, which is why he gets his legs wrapped up around Felix’s, uses his hard-earned core strength to grind up and get those panting, gasping sounds of Felix and pulls his hair _almost_ as hard as he did when he dragged him across the room, earlier. 

“Please, what?” 

Felix doesn’t even try anymore. “Please, ah -- please let me come --” 

Claude almost says _remember who you’re asking_ , mostly just to hear Felix say his name or, fine, a _your majesty_ would be pretty hot, too -- but Felix is too close, on edge, and it’s supposed to be a reward, so. This once, he’ll let it go. “Go ahead, against my cock, let me feel you come for me.” 

The instructions are mostly useless because the second Claude says something in assent, Felix’s whole body shudders and he spills himself all over Claude’s cock with quick, sharp jerks of his hips. He’s loud when he comes, even more than he was last night, and Claude is so into it he’s barely aware of how he’s also grinding up against Felix so he, too, can get off. 

Claude already has his legs twisted around Felix’s, so he flips them so Felix is on his back. Claude settles against him and kisses Felix while he slides his cock through the mess Felix made on his stomach. Felix is still trying to catch his breath as Claude kisses him, and he makes soft little breathless gasps against Claude’s mouth while Claude nears his peak. 

_Fucking him is going to be so good_ , Claude thinks, and that’s all it takes to make him come. 

It’s not quite the same as the blowjob, because it doesn’t tip him into headspace since he was already there when this started. But that doesn’t stop him from enjoying how good it feels, the simple pleasure of it as he shudders on top of Felix and makes an even bigger mess of them both. 

A few seconds later, Claude lifts his head from where it’s pressed into Felix’s messy hair and realizes that Felix’s hands are moving, very carefully, up and down his back. It’s not sexual, and there’s an awkwardness to it suggests Felix isn't used to touching someone like this -- soft, almost reverent, adoring. Claude is immediately curious as to what Felix's past experiences have been like, but for now...he just lets himself close his eyes, and enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Bathing, redux. A Hilda cameo! And Claude and Felix talk about something important.


	7. promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix makes a request, Claude makes a promise (and Hilda makes a cameo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to mxticketyboo for looking this over! :D

As pleasant it is to lounge around and let Felix pet him, Claude is sweaty and sticky, so he regrettably rolls off Felix and keeps rolling until he’s on his feet. He stares down at Felix, who is so _wrecked_ that just the sight of him has Claude grinning so hard his face hurts, and reaches a hand out. “Come on, we’re both a mess. Time for a bath.” 

“Already. Today.” Felix says, around a yawn. 

Claude correctly assumes that’s fucked-out Felix for _I already took a bath today_ and raises his eyebrows. “Believe me, you need another one.” He keeps his hand out. 

Felix just blinks up at him, his amber eyes soft and unfocused, and he’s so out of it that it’s cute. Eventually he takes Claude’s hand and lets Claude pull him up, and moves toward the bath like he’s in a daze. 

“Why,” Felix says. 

Claude interprets this as _why can you get up and move around after sex_ so that’s what he chooses to answer. “It’s just how I am. I have a lot of energy. It drives Hilda crazy, too. She’s the most pillow princess dominant in the world, though.” 

Felix doesn’t say anything else, just lets Claude bring him to the bathing room and into the steaming hot water. Felix dunks under and comes back up with his hair wet and slicked back, and it makes his cheekbones sharper, completely taking away the softness his hair lends to his face. 

He was pretty when they were in school. But now, with his sharper features and the silver scars standing out in relief against skin flushed from the heat of the bath, he’s as deadly and lovely as a sword. Claude is going to give him one, he decides. A nice one, too. One of those curved scimitars they prefer here in Almyra. 

Claude moves through the hot water toward where Felix is sitting and grabs some soap and a scrub, then hands it over. Felix is so under now that he doesn’t even think to ask, he just starts washing Claude’s chest and stomach immediately, as if it never would have occurred to him to do anything else. 

“Still so hot,” Felix mumbles, not yet using full sentences and with a lowered gaze. “How?” 

“Genetics, probably, my dad is a nice-looking guy and I have my mom’s eyes,” says Claude, straight-faced. “Also, you know. I work out a lot.” 

“He means the _water_ , Claude. The palace was built on top of some hot springs, and the water comes up from the ground. It’s why the whole palace is just one floor.” 

Claude smiles as he glances up and sees Hilda standing at the door to the bathing room. “Look at you, knowing about things and stuff.” He half-bows in the water. “My queen, my darling, my deadly, delicate flower of decapitation and decadence and delight, how are you this fine day?” 

“Oh, _Goddess_ , what did you do to him?” Hilda asks, sauntering in like the queen she was long before Claude showed up with a crown go give her. “Hi, Felix. I don’t know if you’re not saying hi because you’re -- well, you -- or if it’s because my man made you dumb in the head.” 

Claude smiles fondly at her, at Felix, at the bath, at the world in general. “It’s probably both.” 

“Hi,” Felix says, from where he’s still standing in front of Claude. He doesn’t turn around. 

“Yeah, I’m not taking that personally. Hey, baby. You look so good all wet like that. Doesn’t he, Felix?” There’s a hint of her usual teasing, and just a touch of her natural dominance, in her voice. 

“Hilda,” Claude says, but he glances at Felix, slightly interested in how he’ll respond. 

He’s all red and splotchy but that is probably from the heat of the bath, and he’s not looking at Hilda _or_ Claude, but he does say, “Yeah,” so that’s something. 

“Don’t be mean,” Claude chides her, moving around Felix and then swimming over to the edge of the bath where she’s standing. “Need a bath? You look sweaty.” 

“What the hell, Claude, I do _not_. Don’t make me splash you in the face.” 

“Seems like that’s a dangerous idea, Hilda. I’m the one who’s naked and already wet, I could pull you in here. But do what you want.” He folds his arms on the stone side of the bath and smiles up at her. 

Hilda arches one delicate pink brow at him. She remains the only living person Claude’s ever met who can actually do that. “I always do. And who becomes king after I kill you dead for pulling me into a bath when I’m all dressed, anyway?” 

“You do,” Claude says. “Them’s the rules.” 

She makes a face. “I guess you’ll live to bathe another day. No way am I ruling the country, that’s way too much work.” She turns her gaze to Felix. “Is he like, being good, or seriously just like this?” 

“Both,” Claude says, and he can hear Felix’s huff. “Come wash my back while I talk to the queen, Felix.” 

“Aw, look at you, showing off.” Hilda watches as Felix moves over through the water so he’s standing behind Claude, then starts washing Claude’s back. “Anyway, you need to meet with the messenger before he goes back to Fod-la-la-land.” 

“Hilda, maybe you should stop calling it that.”

“Why?” Hilda tosses one of her pigtails. “None of us live there anymore. Unless you’re sending Felix back or something.” 

Claude can feel the slightest hint of tension in Felix’s fingers as they glide over the muscles of his shoulders. “Of course not. Are you kidding? No give-backs, and besides. I like him.” 

Felix’s fingers lose their tension, and Claude hears his quiet exhale. It’s probably something to think about, later, that Felix -- even under as he is -- still worried that Claude might send him away.

“Well, you still need to look over all the thoughtful gifts we’re sending the Emperor in return for your new friend, there. And, like, maybe write her a letter? Diplomacy, or whatever.” 

“You’re good at that stuff, what should I say?” Claude asks. 

Hilda taps one sparkly pink nail against her chin. “How about -- Dear Edelgard, thanks for sending me a hot submissive who pushes all my buttons and looks pretty when he’s wet, next time though maybe don’t start a war or I’ll come over there and finish it. Sincerely, King Claude.” She smiles brightly at him. “What do you think?” 

There’s a soft sound behind him, and it takes Claude a moment to realize it’s Felix, and that he just _laughed_. Claude looks over his shoulder and grins. “She’s pretty funny. It’s why I keep her around.” 

“Uh-huh. You, on the other hand, aren’t funny at all but I’m sure Felix has figured out by now why I keep _you_ around. Anyway, Claude, decide what you want the letter to say and I’ll write it. My handwriting’s way more legible than yours.” Hilda goes down on her haunches and reaches out to ruffle Claude’s hair. “Kiss me and then I’m out. It’s too hot in here, ugh. Felix, if you ever start missing the comforts of home, like, say, water that doesn’t scald your skin off? Our bath has a cool-water pool that I made Claude put in there for me.” 

“You made me put it in there for Marianne,” Claude points out. “You grew up practically next door, Hilda. You can take the heat.” 

“What _ever_ , not all of us want to bathe in a volcano even if we did grow up nearby! But I’m just saying.” She flicks her eyes toward Felix, then leans in and kisses Claude on the mouth. “Bring him to dinner, he can say hi to Marianne. Since you’re keeping him, I need to make sure he’s trustworthy around my girl.” 

“What do you think he’s going to do? Scowl at her?” 

“Yes! She’s precious and I will see to it that no one gives her anything but smiles and sunshine. I will see to it with my axe, if necessary. Bye, Claude.” She kisses him again, scratches at his scalp with her nails and then briefly rubs her nose against his. 

“Bye, beautiful. I’ll deal with the letter, don’t worry.” He watches her go, the heels of her boots clicking against the tile, and then turns around. “You’re quiet, is that because Hilda is terrifying? You get used to her.” 

Felix does look pretty when he’s all wet, maybe Claude _will_ put that in the letter. He shakes his head. “I answered her question. Was I supposed to say something else?” 

Claude tips Felix’s face up and kisses him. “Nah, you did great. Besides, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise with her, trust me, I know.” 

Felix gives that little huff-laugh against his mouth. “With her, huh.” 

“Hey!” Claude protests. “Don’t backtalk or I’ll have to gag you.” 

Felix actually laughs at that -- a proper laugh, too.“That’s the most unnecessary thing you _could_ do to me. I don’t really like to talk, remember?” 

“Oh, Felix. _Felix_ , if you think that’s the most unnecessary thing I could do to you, you’re forgetting who I am.”

“The master tactician? Yeah, yeah. Not sure I believe it, if you think _I_ need to be gagged.” Felix is surprisingly tactile now, hands running up and down Claude’s chest. “You do look good wet. She wasn’t wrong.” 

“Wow.” Claude pretends to fall backwards, staggering in the water. “Watch out, the shock from your compliments might drown me.” 

Felix just rolls his eyes. “It’s too hot in here. I really don’t know how you stand it.” 

“You get used to it, but Hilda’s right -- you can use the one in our suite, it does have the cooling bath, too. Which, by the way, I think is horrifying and you should have seen the looks I got for having one installed.” Claude laughs. “I remember how much I hated the cold baths when I moved to Fodlan. And also the winter. And all the other cold things, of which there are so many. Ugh.” 

“It was warm, compared to where I grew up.” Felix is quiet as they finish up, and it isn’t until they’re back in the bedroom and dressing that he says, haltingly, “It must have been hard. To move to Fodlan.” 

“It was, but it’s not like life was all saghert and cream here, you know? Remember the kidnapping attempts? People also tried to assassinate me. Why do you think I know so much about poisons?” Claude doesn’t want to put those tight riding leathers on again, so he pulls on his underwear and the tunic and leaves it unbelted. It only hits the tops of his thighs, but he’s not going far. Just down the hallway to the suite he shares with Hilda. 

And if a king can’t run around in the hallway in his underwear, what is even the point of being one? Claude wonders if Edelgard does that, then puts the thought out of his mind. Mostly because when he thinks about it, she’s wearing the skimpy cute underwear Hilda likes, but also that crown with the horns. And also she’s murdering him. 

Definitely not putting that in the letter. 

“In Faerghus they just sent you out to die learning how to camp in the snow, or fighting bandits before you were twelve,” Felix says. “But they did it to everyone, so it’s probably not as bad.” 

Claude’s actually touched by Felix sharing something about his own childhood. “Bad in a different way, probably. We’ve got a lot of nonsense everywhere that needs to change.” He holds up a hair tie. “Come here. I’ll braid your hair.” 

Felix just sort of stares at him, but then he walks over and turns around. Pleased, Claude gathers up the fall of Felix’s still-damp black hair and says, “I promised we’d talk about rules later, but I think one is going to be you wear your hair down for me, up in a braid if we’re in public. Not counting Hilda or Marianne, obviously. But your ponytails are chaotic. I don’t know how you manage that, but they really are.” 

Felix’s shoulders stiffen, but Claude isn’t sure if that’s because of the rule or the idea he’ll be around other people. Both, maybe. “We’ll have a nice family dinner after I deal with this messenger. Okay?” 

Felix just nods, or tries, as Claude braids his hair. He smiles when he sees the bite he left on Felix’s neck, fingers brushing over it lightly. Felix shivers, and he doesn’t even bother hiding it. 

“You like me leaving marks on you?” Claude asks, slipping the tie around the end of the braid. 

“Yeah.” Felix surprises him by turning around and meeting Claude’s gaze -- it’s obvious he’s forcing himself to do it. “I need to ask you for something. I think I better do it now.” 

Claude’s eyebrows go up. “That sounds serious.” 

“I don’t usually sound any other way, but yeah.” Felix takes a deep breath. “I don’t -- I’m not very good with tact.” 

Claude is _definitely_ intrigued, now. He’s not surprised -- this is an obvious thing about Felix that anyone who talks to him once would figure out -- but surely it’s leading somewhere. “You don’t say.” 

Felix casts his eyes up to the ceiling, just briefly. It’s clear that this is hard for him, even as relaxed and in subspace as he is. “Is that going to be a problem?” 

“You’ve met Hilda, right?” 

“That’s not the same thing.” Felix’s arms cross over his chest. “She’s a dominant. I’m not.” 

“Trust me, she wouldn’t be that much different if she wasn’t, but yeah, I know.” He feels a little bad, teasing Felix. “I mean, sometimes you might need to read the room, depending on who’s there, but no, I don’t think your sharp tongue is really going to be an issue...is this because I made that joke about backtalking, earlier?” 

“No, it’s because I don’t trust people as a rule. But I think I could trust you. I’m quiet, and I’m a submissive, but I speak up when I need to. And if you’re going to tell me I can’t do that, or -- or tell me to lie to you, or make me say that I’m wrong just because you don’t want to hear what I think...then I won’t be able to ever do that. Trust you.” Felix’s expression makes it look like every single word is being dragged out of him by force. “And I want to.” 

He sounds so put out about that. It’s cute. Claude thinks about this. “First, thank you, I’m glad. I want you to trust me, too. I’m fine with earning it, but let me make sure I have this right...you’re asking me not to make you lie?” 

Felix nods. He’s starting to look...not agitated, but closer than Claude would prefer after spending all this time getting him to chill out and relax. “If I told you something and you didn’t want to hear it, for -- for whatever reason -- don’t put me on my knees and make me tell you I’m wrong.” 

Claude can feel the edges of something else in this; a secret, a piece of the puzzle that is Felix.   
He tips Felix’s chin up with two fingers. “It wouldn’t matter what you said, if you didn’t believe it. We’d both know it was a lie, and what’s the point of pretending it wasn’t?” 

Something flashes over Felix’s face, and whatever it is, it isn’t happy or pleasant. “Believe me, I wish I knew the answer to that.” He relaxes a bit, breathes out slow and easy. “Thank you. I know this isn’t...it probably doesn’t make sense. I want to tell you why this matters, but I have to trust you. And I can’t trust you unless I know you won’t -- do the same thing.”

It has to be some kind of sign that it took Claude fucking his face and then getting him off to even get something this...amorphous, out of him. Well, Felix did say he was a difficult submissive, but he’s also giving Claude a challenge and a mystery and those are two things he really just can’t resist. 

“I can promise you I won’t make you lie just to feed my ego, Felix.” Claude is certain that this has to do with the last time Felix tried to submit, and he’s got a pretty good idea who it was that put Felix on his knees. “And you can tell me what it’s about when you’re ready. Is that what you need from me?” 

“If you mean it, then yeah,” Felix challenges, chin raising, even though Claude’s still holding it. He gives Claude this _look_ , like he’s waiting for something. 

Oh. Of course he is. He wants reassurance. 

Claude smiles, then holds his face still with his fingers on his chin and smacks Felix lightly across the face. “I meant it. And I don’t want to have to tell you that twice. How about you get on your knees and show me you believe me?” 

Felix drops to his knees, head bowed, but instead of putting his hands behind his back they’re resting on his thighs. He leans forward, toward Claude, seeking touch. 

Claude draws his head in. His mind is racing. Claude’s never had a submissive for more than a night. He’s barely had Felix for longer than that. He has a country to rule, a wife to adore, a peace treaty with a warring nation to craft and get signed. And now, apparently, a submissive with more knots to untangle than a wyvern harness. 

Good thing he likes being busy. 

Felix calms, eventually, kneeling there and letting Claude pat him on the head for a bit. He even kisses Claude back when Claude leaves, wearing only his loose tunic and his underwear, carrying his boots as he slips into the royal suite, thankfully unseen for his trip down the hallway. 

He strips and heads to his wardrobe. Claude pulls on his usual attire and combs his hair, staring at himself in the mirror while he does up the buttons on his coat and makes himself presentable. His boots come up mid-thigh, black shining leather, cuffed and embroidered with traditional design work in gold thread. He ties the sash around his waist, makes sure it’s straight and tied properly, fingers making quick work of the outfit. It’s not his riding gear, it’s not the casual clothes he prefers when he’s not meeting with anyone, but it’s not his full state regalia, either. 

Thank the gods. Claude always feels like he’s playing dress up when he puts it on. _Once an outsider, always an outsider. Even when you’re the king._

Claude smudges some kohl under his eyes and then sets the simple gold circlet of his crown on his mostly-tamed dark curls, the Almyran crescent resting between his brows. He affixes the cape to his shoulder and studies himself in the mirror. “Looking pretty regal, von Riegan,” he says, to his reflection. 

As Claude leaves, he finds a messenger and gives instructions to pass along to Marianne, then heads down to meet Hilda and wish the messenger a safe journey. He needs to get his head in the game and stop thinking about Felix, and about what in the hell happened that the one thing he’s seriously asked Claude for...is not to make him lie. 

_Dimitri, what did you_ do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me some fits, because Felix needs Claude to agree to something so he can trust him enough to tell him...why he asked for this specific thing in the first place. It'll be addressed, I promise! 
> 
> Also, I'm a filthy dirty multi-shipper and I LOVE Dimitri *and* Dimilix, so I'm not trying to character-or-ship-bash, that's not my style. This is set post-CF and there's a lot going on. I will write a happy Dimilix to make up for the angst I'm putting them through in this one -- I just can't make this work post-CF without fucking them both up a little bit. 
> 
> One of the things I really like about this game is the ability to go in wildly different directions depending on what route/who was recruited, and it's just a chance to explore some different dynamics. Just wanted to throw that out there because there's gonna be some angst, and I abhor ship-hate so it's really not my intention because I literally ship everything and love it all :D


	8. family dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix has dinner with the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this house we love Hilda/Marianne and think that a loving, consensual and caring d/s-verse relationship would make both of them secure and happy.
> 
> also shout out to Mxticketyboo and Freosan for beta'ing!

Felix’s clothes are returned to him, along with a message from Claude about dinner that evening. Felix changes -- _again_ \-- and feels a little less out of his element when he’s wearing his own clothes. They’re the ones he wore in Enbarr instead of Fraldarius, but they’re still a little too warm for Almyra. Even if Felix hasn’t seen much of it beyond his room. 

His room, which was actually _Claude’s_ room before he’d moved to Fodlan. Felix takes a look around, but most anything of a personal nature (except the oil in the bedside table, apparently) has been moved, though there’s an old quiver and a book shoved in the back of the chest where Felix’s own few belongings are stored. 

He picks up the book and fips through it, surprised to see it’s a child’s primer for the tongue of Fodlan; it’s been filled in with a childish scrawl, and while Felix can’t read the Almyran the words in his native tongue are simple enough -- _day, night, dog, cat, wyvern_ \-- so he assumes that if this did belong to Claude, he must have been fairly young. 

Felix flips it to the inside cover, and there’s _something_ written there in the same childish scrawl, but he doesn’t recognize the script so he can’t tell what it says. He flips through it again, wondering if Claude had tutors or just taught himself. 

The old arrow quiver is small, perhaps the size a child would use -- Felix knows very little of archery beyond the basics he learned at Garreg Mach, but the quiver is sort of close to the size of scabbard Felix would have used when he was about eight or so. He and Claude are of a similar height and build; not a stretch to imagine they would have been the same as children. 

It’s strange to think of Claude as a child, sitting cross-legged on the bed and stringing arrows, sounding out foreign words and scribbling them in a primer. The quiver has script embroidered along it, and Felix sees that it’s the same as the script at the front of the book. Claude’s name, then? Most likely. 

He wonders if Claude meant for him to see those things, the quiver and the book. Probably. He doesn’t seem to do much without a purpose, but Felix can’t imagine what it is. He puts the items back and goes to look out the window. There’s not that much to occupy him, and he’s not used to idleness. Even in Enbarr he’d kept up his training, sparring almost daily even though he didn’t really know what he was training _for_. 

Claude told him he’d be able to leave these rooms, even promised to let him spar and to spar _with_ him. Felix would be suspicious of Claude having the time, but Claude’s clearly spent a lot of time with Felix already, so who knows. 

He’s just starting to get a little restless -- not to mention hungry -- when there’s the sound of a knock at the door. Felix waits, but it stays closed -- the knock comes again, so he crosses over and opens it, wondering why he’d assumed it would be locked when Claude told him he wasn’t a prisoner and, for whatever reason, Felix has decided to believe him. About a lot of things. 

The person standing on the other side of the door is Marianne. Felix recognizes her immediately, of course, though he honestly doesn’t think they exchanged more than three words back in school. She’s wearing a pink leather collar with what look like moonstones embedded in it, and her light-blue hair is done up in the same sort of braids she favored at school. She doesn’t look that different, and after a brief glance from her wide gray eyes she looks down and says quietly, “Hello, Felix. It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Hi.” He feels awkward that she’s lowered her gaze, his own still on her collar. Hilda’s, obviously, and it makes him feel...something...to see it there. He’s been around plenty of collared submissives before, especially in Enbarr after the war -- though whether that’s just a phenomenon like a baby boom or whether it’s just more culturally prevalent, he never did find out. 

Felix realizes with a start that he’s standing there and not letting her in when she clearly is there to see him. He moves away from the door, finding his voice. “Come in, then.” It feels weird to give permission, when she actually lives here and he -- well. For the moment, he supposes, he does too. 

Marianne’s hands are clasped in front of her, like she’s praying. She doesn’t try and come into the room. Her voice is so quiet Felix has to lean in a bit to hear her. “Oh, no, I -- it’s all right, I’m here because his Majesty sent me to bring you to the royal suite for dinner.” 

Felix nods, though she’s still not looking at him; from what he remembers about her from school, she was about as fond of eye contact as he was, regardless of status. “Okay.” 

“How have you been?” she asks, as they head down the hallway. Felix doesn’t get much of a sense of where they are in the palace, though it’s quiet enough that he figures it must be the residential wing. 

“All right.” He watches her move toward a set of ornate, wide double doors at the end of the hallway, the royal crest of Almyra etched in relief on the dark wood. He knows politeness demands he ask her the same question, but Felix hates small talk and besides, she seems fine to him. She’s opening the door without knocking, so that has to speak highly of her place here. 

The royal chambers are twice as large as the one he’s been staying in, with a sitting room and -- though Felix cannot imagine why -- a fireplace, and the decor is a truly bizarre mix of Almyran and Fodlan elements, contrasting almost violently in places. The furniture ranges from elaborate tasseled floor pillows to long couches, bright pinks and yellows and greens all clashing for attention. He blinks. 

“His Majesty says this room looks like he and Hilda are waging an eternal war for decor supremacy,” Marianne says softly. “And he’s never sure which of them is winning.” 

“I know who’s losing,” Felix says, trying not to wince. It’s very chaotic. 

“Me, too,” Marianne says, and giggles. 

Felix can’t recall ever having heard her laugh, before. He remembers Sylvain trying to hit on her in his graceless way, then telling Felix she looked like she needed a hug but also like she’d burst into tears if you tried it. Sylvain had been allergic to crying women, which was ironic considering how often he was the reason they were crying in the first place. 

“How long have you been here?” Felix asks, more out of genuine interest than any attempt at politeness. She seems settled, happy in a way that he can tell since they’re both submissives and that _feeling_ that assailed him when he saw her collar isn’t going away. If anything, it’s getting stronger. 

Is he -- is he _jealous_? Not of her wearing Hilda’s collar, because fuck _no_ , but that she’s collared here to the queen and clearly happy about it? He’d never really understood her whole deal back at the monastery, but she definitely seemed miserable. He has some vague, formless memory of her thinking her crest was cursed, something about wild beasts and an adopted father, but that was all. 

Felix, who had always believed in letting the past go, wasn’t going to ask. 

“His Majesty and the queen are finishing up with a meeting -- can I get you anything to drink while we wait?” She’s led him into a room that must function as a private dining area, and luckily the culture clash here seems to be kept to less of an eyesore. The table is different than the one in his rooms, Felix notes; it’s set low to the ground, with pillows instead of chairs. 

“I’m not -- you don’t need to,” Felix says, gruffly, in answer to her question. 

“I don’t mind,” she says, simply, moving over to a sideboard. There’s a few bottles of things that are probably wine, and a pitcher of what seems to be ice water, and one of something faintly colored like lemonade but not quite the same shade. “This is wyvernfruit-flavored water, it’s my favorite. Would you care for some?” 

Having her serve him makes him feel weird, but she clearly wants to so he just says, “yeah, okay, thanks,” and waits. The table draws his attention again, because wouldn’t the king and his queen sit on chairs? 

Marianne returns and hands him a chilled goblet of the flavored water; Felix sips it and finds he likes it, cold and clean with just a hint of the fruit he remembers from breakfast. It’s good. 

“If you’re wondering about the table, His Majesty told me it’s traditional to have it in private quarters. It means you’re a trusted friend or family member if you’re invited to join them for a meal and sit at an equal level.” Marianne sips her own flavored water. “But it could also be that he just likes pillows. It’s hard to tell, sometimes, with him.” 

Felix is used to both silence and being awkward, so he doesn’t think much of it that neither one of them speak for a bit after that. But he _is_ startled when Marianne says, “I’m glad that you didn’t die. We thought maybe you did, no one knew what happened to you.” 

“Why?” Felix asks, tactless as he always is. “We barely knew each other.” 

“I know.” Marianne doesn’t look bothered by his brusqueness, but he didn’t think necessarily that she would be. People thought she was a doormouse back in school, but Felix had always thought she was just quiet and sad, which isn’t at all the same thing. “But that doesn’t mean I wished you ill.” 

Felix goes to run a hand through his hair, remembers it’s braided, and gives an uncomfortable shrug. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to return the sentiment, but he is shit at lying and he can’t say he thought one way or the other about her surviving the war. He can’t even say _I’m glad it’s over_ , because Felix doesn’t think he’s much good at anything but fighting and he’d rather fight a person than his own damnable nature. 

But he’s also aware that she’s collared to the queen, and while he hates chivalry and all the stilted code of manners that go along with it, it’s been beaten into him for long enough that he feels an overwhelming urge to reciprocate. His headspace is all but gone, now. Social interactions have always exhausted him. 

“You don’t seem like the type to wish anyone ill,” is what he manages. 

She smiles and sips her water. “Thank you. I take that as a compliment, but I did plenty of wishing ill on myself for a long time. We can sit, you know. Hilda has rules but she’s rather firm about my comfort.” 

Felix isn’t sure he can settle enough to sit down, so he says, “I’m fine. When did you get here?” 

If she’s offended by the gracelessness of the question, she doesn’t show it. “Hilda collared me during the war, so I came with her when she married His Majesty after it ended.” 

Felix wonders if she always calls Claude that. Felix honestly doesn’t want to call anyone that, ever again. Especially not someone who can put him on his knees with a glance. 

“It’s different here than back home,” she continues, although he hasn’t asked. “But I’m happy. I hope you will be, too.” 

Felix gives a sharp huff of a laugh and chooses not to respond. 

“Would you like more water?” 

He realizes that he’s going tense, and she’s a service submissive so she’s going to keep offering him things and he’s going to get even _more_ tense, and so he exhales a long breath and says, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. It’s a natural talent.” 

“You’re not. I’m not the same person I was back at school, Felix. Is it all right if I call you that? You’re a duke, is that right? I can use your title, if you’d prefer.” 

“No,” Felix snaps. “I relinquished my title. My given name is fine. Is there something I’m supposed to call you?” 

“Marianne is fine,” she says, with that same little smile. 

He looks at her, then. Really looks at her, to see the person she is now instead of the person she used to be. She does look different; calm instead of cowed, peaceful where she used to have that air of melancholy about her. “I’m glad nothing happened to you,” he says, gruffly, because of course he is. He’s not a monster, and he didn’t want people to die -- especially people like her, who had no business being anywhere near a battlefield. “I don’t think you were made for war. This seems to suit you better.” 

Her eyes widened -- he’s startled her, he can tell. Felix feels his face heat. He didn’t know her at school at all, but he’d noticed her. Something about her sad eyes, the way she kept herself apart from everyone else. Maybe he recognized something of himself in her. Why it always takes him so long to work up to a genuine interaction with another person...well, who the fuck knows why? She’s not hard to talk to, though. 

“Thank you, Felix. I hope you will be happy here, too. I’m no warrior, I know you are and I imagine it’s hard to stop fighting just because the war is over.” Her gaze is kind. “His Majesty has an easier time of it, I think -- he’s always preferred to fight with his wits over his arrows.” 

That does sound like Claude. “From what I heard, the queen’s no slouch with an axe,” Felix says, face hot. She’s more right than she knows. Felix _hasn’t_ stopped fighting, has he? Now it’s just himself, though. The last of all the foes he hasn’t managed to kill. 

A memory of taking Claude’s cock and choking for him surfaces. His face heats even more, and all right, fine, maybe that was the one and only time he’s stopped fighting since one ill-fated night in Fhirdiad, in another life. 

“She is definitely good with an axe, and she’s a _fighter_ , but Hilda would rather make jewelry and fix my hair than go back to war. Though she’s quite fond of the eyrie and takes the wyverns out often. His Majesty says she’s got a gift, but he’s a bit besotted.” 

Felix’s eyebrows go up. She blushes and says, “I suppose I am, too. Hilda is a favorite subject, and I adore His Majesty for bringing us both here and making it a home.” 

Marianne’s inner peace is both admirable and profoundly annoying, because Felix has no delusions that he’ll ever be as at peace with his nature as she is with hers. 

“Ugh, do you _really_ think that? I don’t want to have dinner with my ex, can’t we just send Lorenz?” Hilda’s voice, loud and a touch whiny, breaks the sudden quiet. “That’s the literal point of envoys, Claude, they’re supposed to go to the uncomfortable dinners on your behalf.” 

“Hilda, she’s not your ex, she’s the _Emperor of Fodlan_. You literally went on two dates back at the Academy.” 

“Two more than you did with her,” Hilda says, as she and Claude round the corner and step into the dining room. “Mari, baby, get me some wine, I need to get drunk enough to think Claude has good ideas about who we should have dinner with.”

“I want to make peace with Fodlan, Hilda, it’s how it has to be done. You know that.” 

Marianne goes to do as bidden, but Felix can’t make himself look at anyone but Claude. He’s dressed in more traditional Almyran clothing than Felix has ever seen. He’d been dressed far more casually when Felix was brought to the reception room on his arrival, without the cape or the sash or the crown. 

Seeing Claude adorned with that universal symbol of _kingship_ makes Felix’s head spin. 

Hilda laughs, reaching out for the wine Marianne hands her and drawing the other woman in for a kiss. “Wow, someone’s into you looking like a king, Mr. Leader Man.” 

Claude moves toward Felix with his usual air of boundless energy and confidence. “You think this is fancy, wait until you see me in my actual kingly raiment. It takes forever to put on, though, I can see why my dad was so happy to pass it on to me.” 

“Worth the time it takes for how hot you look in it,” Hilda says, cheerfully. “I’m a little insulted I didn’t get a stare like that, though, Felix.” 

His gaze shifts to her, briefly -- she sort of made it impossible for him to do anything else -- and he can’t deny she’s lovely; Hilda is a dominant and that’s inherently attractive to Felix, but she’s also loud, bossy and occasionally sets his teeth on edge. She does look nice dressed in layers of draped silks and gauze, hair in braids not dissimilar to Marianne’s, a crown almost identical to Claude’s settled atop her head. He wonders what the Almyrans think about having a queen with pink hair, marking her as so clearly _other_. 

He wonders if it bothers _her_ , but isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to ask. “You sort of always did act like you deserved to be wearing a crown, back at school.” 

Hilda throws her head back and laughs. “Wow, Claude, why are you like…so predictable with the people you’re into? Ugh, I really want to smack you for that, Felix.” 

Felix honestly hadn’t meant to be mean or anything; she did often act like she should be handing out orders while arrayed on a throne when they were back at school. He glances at Claude, then down at the floor. “It wasn’t an insult.” 

“Neither was my wanting to smack you. You just have, like. A really smackable face, Felix. Has anyone ever told you that?” 

“Yeah,” says Felix. 

“Besides Claude?” 

“Hilda,” Claude interrupts, but he sounds amused. “Be sweet.” 

“Since when have you ever been into that? I save my sweetness for my girl.” Hilda beams at Marianne, then turns her attention back to her husband. “Anyway, Claude, I can practically see Mari having a crisis about which submissive in the room is supposed to get you a drink, do you want her to, or is Felix supposed to attend to your beverage needs along with the other ones?” 

Felix startles, _again_ , because it did not occur to him that he should get Claude something to drink. He’s not necessarily inclined toward service unless he’s under, and he definitely isn’t right now. Washing Claude’s back in the bath was one thing -- it was obviously a request and it meant Felix had a reason to put his hands on him. 

“I don’t mind getting you one, Your Majesty,” says Marianne, in her sweet voice. “If you like.” 

Hilda makes the decision for her, though. “Mari, come help me change, we’ll let the king deal with Felix.” She laces her hand with Marianne’s and the two women head off toward a set of doors that presumably leads toward the bedroom. 

Felix turns to Claude with his arms crossed over his chest, defensive even though Claude doesn’t look particularly bothered. “I told you I’m not good at this.” 

“Did I say anything?” Claude steps closer, and Felix’s whole body goes tight, awareness sharpening the instant Claude focuses on him. “Hey, look at me.” 

Felix looks. Claude is so close to him, his green eyes so, so bright and for the first time, Felix realizes they’re lined with kohl. He didn’t realize that was a thing in Almyra, but it’s certainly striking. Very striking. 

“I see what you mean about your tact, but you don’t have to worry -- Hilda might like a compliment but she can’t stand false flattery. You probably did better than you know, talking to her like that.” Claude grins. “And she really did act like she was already the queen of something, you’re not wrong.” 

That puts Felix a bit at ease, though offending Hilda wasn’t honestly what he was worried about. “Did you want me to get you a drink?” 

Claude laughs at him. “You sound so put out about that. Sure, if you want. Water, though. I’m not much for alcohol. Total lightweight.” 

Felix crosses over to the sideboard. He’s not sure he likes fetching drinks, but he can’t deny that having a task is settling his nerves. “Do you want the, uh. Regular or the fruit water?” 

“Yeah, thanks. Did you and Marianne catch up?” 

Felix puts his own glass on the sideboard and pours some of the iced wyvern-fruit water into an empty one for Claude. “I guess. We didn’t know each other very well, before. Not a long conversation.” 

“With you two? Not a surprise. Compared to how she was when we were in school, she’s a chatterbox now, though.” 

Felix turns and carries the water over to Claude. He holds it out. “Here.” 

Claude’s mouth quirks as he takes the water. “Thank you.” He’s honestly just... ridiculously handsome. Felix likes the beard, the way it outlines Claude’s jaw, and he really likes the dark kohl around Claude’s striking green eyes. The way he looks swallowing the water. 

Ugh. This is -- it’s too much. He is not the type of man who stands around thinking someone is hot _drinking something_. 

“How have I managed to piss you off by drinking water? You did ask if I wanted some,” Claude says, when he catches Felix’s glare. 

“It’s not that.” Felix doesn’t know how to say it, _I don’t like being attracted to you or wanting what you can give me_ and then...he remembers he’s supposed to be allowed to say that. So he does. “I just don’t like wanting this.” 

“Wyvernfruit water? We did establish it’s not made out of wyverns, right?” 

Felix’s jaw is tense, and his arms are wrapped tight around himself. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“Then try saying what you mean, and that way I won’t be confused,” Claude says, and _Goddess_ that _voice_.

“It’s nothing that’s any different from what I told you the second I got here. I hate this, wanting it, and especially now that you’ve given it to me. And I don’t like how attracted I am to you.” There. 

Claude finishes his drink and turns to put the goblet down on a nearby table. “Okay, thanks for telling me. I know you don’t like it, but I’m not sorry that you do, so we’re at an impasse, I guess. Felix, I’m not going to keep you here by force. If you want to leave Almyra and be a wandering mercenary, live in the woods...you can.” Claude does that thing where he tips Felix’s chin up to look at him; his fingers are cold from the chilled goblet. “If you stay here, you know what it means.” 

“I know that. I didn’t say I wanted to leave.” Felix likes how Claude’s fingers feel so cold against his skin. He’d actually like to go throw himself in a snowbank, but since they’re in Almyra, maybe he’ll have to settle for that cold water tub Hilda said they had in the royal baths. Everything about him feels overheated. 

“You didn’t say you wanted to stay, either,” says Claude. 

Felix huffs out a sound and, because Claude’s sharp gaze is a bit too much, closes his eyes. “Do I have to say it?” 

“I would like to know you’re not here under duress, yeah,” says Claude. “Or if you think you’ve got nowhere else to go, because then I need to rethink this whole thing. I don’t want you submitting to me because you think you have no other options. Open your eyes.” 

Felix opens his eyes. That makes him settle, just hearing that. Which he hates, because it means someone else calming him down, and he laughs outright at what a vicious fucking loop this is. “It’s not that, I can take care of myself if I need to, wherever I am.” He’s been doing that for years at this point. 

“What is it, then?” 

Felix would really like to stop talking about his feelings at some point, why is that a thing he needs to do? “It’s more… are you really sure you want to deal with me, with how I am?” 

Claude sighs, holds Felix’s chin tighter and then smacks him in the face. It’s not playful, either -- it’s a hard slap and it stings good enough to bring Felix out of his own head a bit. Until Claude says, “If you make me repeat myself again, I’ll spank you.” 

Felix’s head is still echoing from the smack, and his entire body feels like it’s going up in flames when Claude says _spanking_. “Try spanking me and I will _kill you_ , von Riegan.” 

It is absolutely out of the question. Felix has no memory of ever being spanked, and if Claude thinks Felix would ever allow it, then Claude’s nowhere near as smart as he thinks he is. 

“You think I couldn’t do it?” Claude asks, and he has one arm around Felix’s waist, hauling him closer. “Because I bet I could. If I told you it was your punishment and would make me happy, I bet you’d beg me for it. I bet you’d let me turn you over my knee on my _throne_ if I wanted to, Felix.” 

There are no words for how that image makes Felix feel. “You…!” 

Claude kisses him, which Felix is also not expecting, and it’s the kind of kiss that is meant to say something, assert dominance, and it _does_. Claude pulls back and grins that self-satisfied smile at him. “So now I guess I know what happens if you make me repeat myself. Unless you’re telling me that’s a limit and it’s non-negotiable?” 

Of course that’s what he’s saying. Felix would never -- he can’t want -- why the fuck is he getting _hard_? No matter how much he tries, though, he can’t say the words. He wants to, it should be easy, but they won’t come. 

That is so telling it makes his face flame and Claude laugh in clear delight. 

“I’m sure I can handle you, Felix.” He kisses him again. “I can’t lie, now I really want to spank you -- Gods, the look on your face!” Claude laughs and Felix sort of wants to punch him in the stomach for that. “But let me worry about that, and I really will do it if you make me repeat that again.” 

“I’m never going to be as -- as good at this as Marianne,” he says, once Claude steps away. Felix’s face is still on fire. “Just so you know that.” 

Claude looks completely unbothered by that dramatic pronouncement. “Who said that’s what I want? Now, I have got to get out of this get-up, I feel ridiculous wearing a cape in my bedroom. Come on.” He turns and heads toward the doors at the other end, so Felix follows him. 

The room is spacious, with a large bed taking up almost an entire wall -- bigger, actually, than any bed Felix has ever seen -- a desk and a few large chests and armoires, a set of double-doors that likely lead to the private baths and a glass door that leads out to a balcony. 

There are plenty of Fodlan and Almyran elements in here, too -- floor pillows and very traditional Fodlan-like chaise lounges, all in varying shades of jewel tones and pastels -- but the chaos of the sitting room seems to have eased into something gentler, a little more eclectic but not nearly as jarring. 

“The funny thing is,” Claude says, with a little half-smile. “When people see the sitting room, they think, wow, I bet the king and the queen must be two stubborn assholes who can’t figure out what they want, gosh, are we _doomed_?” 

“Ugh,” Hilda says, from where she’s sitting at a vanity, Marianne behind her and combing out her hair. “Sorry, he just gets _so_ smug when he does this whole spiel.” 

“Let me finish! See, Almyran custom allows for close friends or family to have dinner with the royal couple, which means people see the sitting room. They don’t come into the bedroom though, so you know, we thought it would be fun to make it look like we were having a major culture clash problem.” 

Felix can see the way the Almyran and Fodlan elements of the room work _together_ here, in private. “Why?” 

“Because Claude’s schemes have schemes? Who knows, with him,” Hilda says. She sounds very fond.

“It’s _symbolic_ ,” says Claude. He pauses. “Or I might just think it’s funny.” He takes off the cape and walks over to the wardrobe, opening the wide doors and rummaging around. He’s sort of messy, which Felix remembers from their time at the monastery and walking by the open doors of his room. 

Felix looks at Marianne, smiling in contentment as she brushes Hilda’s hair and starts putting it into the pigtails she’s always worn. He looks again at Claude, pulling off his vestments and hanging them up in the closet. Felix’s hands twitch. He scowls, fights the urge for another two seconds then gives up. He strides over toward Claude with purpose, then says, “Just let me do that.” 

Hilda laughs; Felix ignores her. Claude turns and holds his hands up, and then lets Felix help him out of the various pieces of his ensemble. He ends up in an undershirt and his pants, and he looks pretty pleased about having Felix’s help. Felix’s face is burning and he’s not looking at anyone, but he feels more settled and that’s weird given service isn’t his preferred method of submission. 

Also Claude in those pants and an undershirt is objectively a pleasant sight. 

Felix isn’t really in headspace but at least his shoulders don’t feel like they’re trying to climb up to his ears. He follows Claude out of the bedroom back to the dining area, along with Hilda and Marianne, and he’s happy that no one is making him talk or asking him questions, he can just sort of...be here. Be here, and watch what is actually a pretty chill dynamic, for all Claude and Hilda’s personalities seem to fill up every inch of available space. Hilda is sweet with Marianne, petting her and smiling at her a lot. Marianne blushes prettily and leans toward her, touches her with ease. 

They seem very happy. Hilda clearly adores her, and Marianne blossoms under her attentions. It’s how the whole thing is supposed to work, or so Felix has learned since he was a child. _Our natural submissive and dominant inclinations exist so that we will be fulfilled and happy people, with all our needs met._ A nice idea. It clearly works for Hilda and Marianne. Felix’s experiences have been a bit less ideal. 

Felix feels that odd feeling again, and realizes it’s not so much jealousy as it is yearning, maybe. To be as easy with his submission as Marianne? Maybe, but then again, Claude doesn’t seem to mind that he’s not easy. 

His eyes go to Marianne’s collar. Every now and then she touches it lightly, a pleased little smile on her face. Felix watches, and then he catches Claude watching him watch, but Claude doesn’t do anything but smile his enigmatic smile and sip his water. 

Felix expected to have to kneel again for dinner, but this time they’re all sitting on pillows, cross-legged around the table, so that would be rather pointless. The food is brought in by a few palace servants and it smells good, whatever it is, warm and spicy. The staff aren’t collared like they are in Enbarr, but they’re efficient and quiet, and Felix knows a submissive when he sees one. 

Claude speaks to them in Almyran, and he must be thanking them because they look pleased as they bow and won’t meet his eyes. Hilda says something in Almyran as well, much shorter but in a clear, confident voice. They bow to her as well before leaving, but Felix is almost certain he sees one of the servant’s shoulders shaking as if in mirth. 

Claude grins and raises his goblet, which still only has water in it. “You said, _thanks for bringing my husband’s meat_.” 

Marianne giggles. Even Felix feels his mouth quirk up in the faintest of smiles. 

Hilda leans back on her hands on the pillow, tossing her hair with the all the impudence of a queen who knows she can say whatever she wants, in whatever language. “I mean. Was it wrong?” 

“Nope,” Claude says, giving her a fond look. “I guess it wasn’t. Let’s eat.” 

The food is different from anything Felix has ever eaten before, and _Goddess_ , it’s good. He’s not required to eat by hand this time, which he’s glad about since he’s way too hungry to be patient. The meat is fragrant and spicy, there’s warm flatbread and a rice dish with carrots, bits of oranges and a spice that Claude says is called _saffron_. 

“When I went to live with Duke Riegan, I was horrified at how boring Fodlan food was,” Claude says, eating with relish. “Why was everything boiled? Why did every sauce involve cream? It was a mystery. The only spice my grandfather liked was salt, and once -- once! -- black pepper. But only a little. My mother sent me some saffron and he seemed personally offended when I wanted to put it on my very boring, very plain rice. I still don’t know if he hated anything with a slight kick to it, or just anything that reminded him of my foreign heritage and the country whose king stole his daughter.” 

“Your dad didn’t _steal_ her,” Hilda huffs. “Your badass mom was like, fuck this Leicester boring ass Fodlan shit, I’m going to find a real man and be cool as hell.” 

Felix glances at Claude for confirmation of this, and Claude shrugs easily and says, “Yeah, obviously, but my grandfather wasn’t that interested in a narrative in which his daughter made her own choices. He liked his theory that my dad absconded with her and saffron was evil, so, that’s what it was until the day he died.” 

Felix glances down at his plate. He knows all about a parental figure making up a narrative that’s better than the truth he doesn’t want to hear. He swallows past the uncomfortable lump in his throat and takes another bite of rice. He likes the spice. The food here is good. The memories can stay where they belong. 

“It took some getting used to, for me,” says Marianne, softly. “The food. I wasn’t used to anything spicy.” 

She’s talking to him, Felix realizes, and glances up. He’s still not a fan of eye contact, but it’s not hard to talk to Marianne. “My - my brother. He used to love spicy food. So, I did, too.” Felix had done everything he could to make himself just like his idolized older brother, from his sword techniques to his favorite skewers to the spices on them that used to make young Felix’s eyes water. 

It’s been years, but Felix still doesn’t like talking about Glenn. He isn’t even going to think about his father. 

“Holst used to eat a lot of Almyran food,” Hilda adds, spreading the substance that Felix thinks tastes like mint-flavored jam on some of her flatbread. “I don’t get why he was _so_ into fighting Almyrans and then also eating their food. Just, like. Put down the axe and pick up the skewers, Holst!” She snaps her fingers. “I should send some saffron to him and Baltie. I wonder what they eat in Kupala?” 

“I hear the food is similar,” Claude says. “Man, I really want to visit them someday. I bet your brother and Balthus caused a stir moving there and setting up house.” He chuckles, then looks at Felix. “Did you know Balthus, at school? He married Hilda’s brother.” 

“I don’t know if they’re really married or whatever, but they’re together, yeah.” Hilda shakes her head. “All that time Baltie pretended they were just friends, like I’m an idiot!” 

“Maybe he didn’t think someone like Holst would ever want someone like him,” Marianne puts in. She’s really not so much shy as she is quiet, is she? Maybe it’s impossible to be shy and be with Hilda. She glances over at Hilda with an aching, sweet expression that makes Felix’s cheeks heat, it’s so adoring. “That’s why I … that’s why I never knew, about you.” 

“If you could have just been there when she would, like, fling herself on the table in the Deer classroom and, _oh, Claude, she’s so pretty and she smells like flowers and can you imagine how nice she’d look kneeling and I just want to take care of her so much…._!” 

“That’s enough from you, Claude!” Hilda says, very loudly. Apparently Claude can even make _her_ blush. “Anyway, yeah, it’s cute. I guess the evil overlord of Fod-la-la-land--” 

“ _Hilda_ ,” Claude laughs. 

“What? She said Holst could keep protecting Fodlan’s Throat as the duke, but like. I’m married to the king of Almyra, how much protecting do we need? My brother likes the idea of roughing it in the mountains with his true love. As long as he lets Baltie point out the mushrooms he shouldn’t eat, they’ll be fine.” 

“It’s sweet,” Marianne says. “I think. War is awful, but maybe it won’t happen again if we leave old homes for new ones.” 

“It’ll happen again,” says Felix, always the buzzkill in any situation. “You can’t stop war. People will move and settle and they’ll just draw new lines to kill each other over.” 

Silence. 

Felix scowls and feels, like he usually does, that no one wants him to speak or do anything but stab things with a sword. Which he doesn’t have, so he compensates by stabbing some meat with a skewer and not looking at anyone. He’s waiting for it, the same thing that always happens when he tries to speak up or join a conversation. He can’t help it that he’s pragmatic. He’s from _Faerghus_. They’ve been raised for war from the cradle. 

Claude reaches out and rubs his hand over Felix’s head. “My ray of sunshine. You’re probably not wrong, though maybe we’ll get a few years of relative peace before we have to do it all over again.” 

“I don’t want my kids to have to swing axes and kill people,” Hilda says. “I want them to be smart, which they’ll be Claude’s kids, too, so that’s a given. And be cute, which, if I’m their mom, _obviously_. And also adored. Not sent to learn how to fight like I was, when hello, anyone could see I wasn’t cut out for it.” 

“It’s funny when you pretend you didn’t decapitate people from the back of a _wyvern_ , Hilda.” 

Hilda makes a face. “I did it, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t like doing it, and I don’t want to do it ever again, and I definitely don’t want our sweet baby angel _children_ , to do it, either. Why no one believes me when I say I’m a delicate flower, I’ll never know.” 

“We believe you about the flower part,” Claude says. “It’s the _delicate_ I think we have a problem with.” 

“Whatever,” Hilda says, seemingly not bothered. “How do I say, _I’m a delicate flower_ in Almyran, Claude?” 

Claude obligingly repeats the phrase. Hilda says it back, and it makes Felix think about that primer he found in the closet. He likes the way the language sounds, when Claude speaks it. 

“Is that really what it means, or is this like when I asked you, on our _wedding night_ , how to say _I love you, too_ and you taught me the Almyran for _Let me blow you_?” 

Claude laughs. “That was pretty funny.” 

“Uh-huh.” Hilda smiles, though. “It was sure something. Idiot. Everyone thinks you’re this master tactician, and you’re really just like. A huge dork.” 

“I maintain I can be both. I eventually did teach you how to say it, do you remember?” Claude asks, and Felix startles when he feels Claude’s hand settle on the back of his neck. 

“Sure.” Hilda says something in Almyran, slowly and carefully. “Unless that’s about your meat.” 

Claude winks at her. “Which you also love.” 

“I’m divorcing you,” Hilda says, and turns her attention to Marianne. “I love _you_ , you know. You’re the literal definition of perfection on earth.” 

“I love you, too,” Marianne says, blushing and pretty, leaning against Hilda’s shoulder. Her fingers go to her throat, caressing over the leather. She looks so _content_. 

Felix glances over at Claude, who is watching his wife with her submissive and smiling fondly at their obvious affection. He feels awkward and intrusive, a little, like he’s not supposed to be here. He can feel Claude’s hand on the back of his neck, beneath the end of his braid, pressing against the fading bruise of the bite.

Felix wishes Claude had bit him harder. He wants -- not a collar, not yet. But he’d like to feel something there, some mark, some sense that he could maybe belong here. And it scares the fuck out of him. It’s too much and it’s _way too soon_. 

Felix is starting to breathe way too fast. He turns slightly, toward Claude. All Felix can see is the smooth curve of Claude’s muscular shoulder since he’s only wearing his undershirt. He can do this. He can ask. He knows Claude will give it to him, a nice aching, and bruising bite, if Felix can just make himself ask for it. 

Why can’t Claude just know that Felix needs him to shove his head forward, flip the tail of that braid out of the way and bite him? Hard enough that the skin breaks. That it will bleed. That he’ll feel it for days. 

_You have to ask him._ He can’t expect Claude to read his mind. 

Felix glances back at Hilda and Marianne. Hilda is smiling in pure indulgent pleasure and feeding bits of some sweet pastry thing to her. Marianne, if she were a cat, would probably be purring. 

Felix breathes out. He can do this. He glances up at Claude, and Claude is, of course, watching him. He must notice that Felix is having his own quiet version of a freak-out. That he’s -- ugh -- being _needy_. 

“Go on,” Claude says, and for all that he’s figured out Felix must need something, he’s being remarkably patient in waiting for Felix to get himself together enough to ask. Or he just likes tormenting Felix, which, honestly, is probably more likely. 

Felix presses his face into Claude’s shoulder. His skin is warm. “I hate this so fucking much.” 

“Yeah. I know. But I can’t read your mind. You want something, ask me. Chances are pretty good I’ll give it to you.” 

Felix counts to three. Part of it is that they’re not alone, but honestly, he’d be having just as hard a time even if they weren’t 

“Bite me,” he mumbles, into Claude’s muscled shoulder. 

“You want something, you can at least look at me and ask for it.” Claude’s voice is soft, quiet -- he clearly knows Felix won’t want attention -- but no less full of authority. 

Felix pulls away, and glances up at Claude briefly before he says, “Bite me.” 

Claude, because he really is kind of a dork, _snorts_ \-- and then he gets it. “Oh. You -- right, I thought that was just you being...Felix. Where?” 

“You know where,” Felix says, between his teeth. 

Claude doesn’t even say anything, he just waits. Half-amused, patient, no hint of the exasperation he surely must be feeling -- that _Felix_ is feeling -- at his inability to do something so simple. 

“Bite the back of my neck so it leaves a mark. Harder than before. So it bleeds and I can feel it and it hurts.” It all tumbles out of him in a rush. 

Claude’s eyes, still rimmed in the kohl, go wide. He smiles. “Wow. That was more than I expected, good.” He reaches out and slides two fingers in Felix’s mouth, which he’s done before. “Good. Kneel in front of me, then.” He takes his fingers out, and Felix isn’t surprised to feel them drag wet down his cheek. 

He shifts so he’s kneeling in front of Claude, who also goes up on his knees. He doesn’t look up to see if Hilda and Marianne are watching, but if they are, they’re being quiet about it. Claude settles behind him, and since Felix asked for it, Claude doesn’t tease or make him wait -- he puts a hand on Felix’s shoulder and uses the other to move the end of Felix’s braid. “Hold this out of the way for me.” 

Felix raises one hand off his thigh, reaching behind him to hold the tail of his braided hair against his head so his neck is bare. 

“I like that you asked me,” Claude says, kissing Felix’s neck. It makes Felix shiver. “Ready?” 

“Yeah,” Felix breathes, heart racing. 

“Good. Now relax.” Claude bites him like it’s a tease, one hand sliding around Felix’s middle to hold him close, the other pushing Felix’s head down just like Felix wanted. He drags it out for what feels like forever, the pain getting worse in gradual pulses, twisting through his whole body so it’s all he can focus on. The relief of that is instantaneous, the pleasure from the bite builds along with the pain, and being _gentled_ and taken care of like he needs is another added bonus that calms him enough to enjoy all the rest of it. 

Claude does exactly as Felix said he needed, and bites until it starts to ache and makes him kick his foot against the floor in reaction, and he’s mad about doing that, wants to do better and take this without needing to channel all the pain out. He wants to sink into it, get lost in it, surrender. Like he did earlier, with Claude choking him with his cock. 

But this works, and when his skin breaks Felix feels it. Claude pulls back and Felix aches with it, the relief of feeling that bite on his neck and the release of pain after all that build-up. His chin lowers and he’s shaking -- he barely feels Claude press a small kiss on the bite and then tug at Felix’s wrist to move his hand off the back of his head. He’s so sensitive that the slight pressure of his hair hitting against the bite makes him gasp. 

“That’s good, just kneel there and breathe,” Claude says, against the skin right beneath Felix’s ear. He kisses him there, too. He sounds pleased. 

Felix kneels, and breathes. His neck throbs -- it still hurts, throbbing with every breath and every slowing beat of his heart. His shoulders relax. 

“Masochists,” Hilda says, sounding amused. “That was hot, Claude.” 

Felix normally would hate hearing that, but -- right now, he just feels _proud_. 

“I try,” Claude says, and smooths hand down Felix’s braid. Then he settles it around the back of Felix’s neck again, applies the slightest bit of pressure to the new mark there, and Felix drifts off into headspace, content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my fic if i want claude wearing eyeliner i will make him tyvm. 
> 
> A bit of a time skip coming up, because this is like. The longest day of Felix's life, sorry Felix. It was not supposed to be 30K+ words or whatever, but that's the story of my life forever. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, i'm so delighted that people are enjoying the story!


	9. sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix and Claude spar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to mxticketyboo for the beta, and youtube for showing me how someone with a scimitar and someone with a rapier would spar. 
> 
> CW for explicit sex and feelings.

If there’s one comforting thing about training grounds, Felix thinks, it’s that no matter where they are, they all sort of look the same. Whether it’s the one in Fraldarius where he grew up, the royal training ground in Faerghus or the old pitch back at Garreg Mach, they have a timelessness, a _placelessness_ about them, that makes Felix feel at home. 

Even in Enbarr, he’d found himself relaxing when surrounded by the familiar dirt floor, racks of wooden weapons and dummies set up for practice. 

There are a few different training areas located around the royal palace in Almyra; there’s one near the eyrie, which makes sense given how many Almyrans fight on wyvern-back, and a royal archery course set up a bit further beyond that. The one Felix likes the most is the one near the gardens on the east end of the palace. It’s spacious and never very crowded, and while it’s maybe a little warmer than Felix would prefer --where in Almyra _isn’t_ \-- it’s a bit cooler when the sun moves along during the day. 

There are plenty of different swords to choose from; the curved scimitars favored by the Almyrans and Felix’s preferred rapier-style, the latter which now feels like an extension of his own arm. 

He’s just finished a form that ends with his sword embedded in the chest of one of the training dummies when he notices someone’s standing at the edge of the pitch. Felix yanks the sword out and pushes his sweaty bangs out of his face; the rest of his hair is braided because Claude makes him keep it like that if he’s in public. And while the training pitch isn’t crowded, it’s still public.

This particular rule isn’t actually all that hard to follow, given how warm it is here. Felix would prefer his usual messy ponytail or a topknot, but Claude prefers the braid, so...a braid it is. 

Felix is in his usual trousers and boots, but in concession to the heat he’s only wearing an undershirt. His body is sweat-soaked; it happens so easily, here, and he’s already looking forward to climbing into that nice cold pool in the royal bathing suite. That thing is a lifesaver for transplants who aren’t used to deserts. 

Felix doesn’t miss Fodlan, and he sure as hell doesn’t miss Faerghus -- or Fraldarius -- but he does sort of miss the snow. 

Felix is surprised to see the person watching him is Marianne. She’s standing near the edge of the dirt training floor with -- something -- in her hands that looks a lot like a sword. If there’s ever a surefire way to get Felix’s attention, this is it. 

“Felix, hello,” Marianne says. 

“Hi.” Felix walks over and nods at her, grabbing at the jug of water that’s on the low table near the edge of the arena. Somehow it’s always there no matter when Felix shows up; he’s yet to see anyone bring it or replenish it, though. He pours himself some and resists the urge to dump the rest of the water over his head. 

How can the water and the ice stay so cold in the pitcher, and the room is so hot it feels like he’s melting? 

Marianne holds up the sword. “This, um. It belonged to my...my family. A hero’s relic.” 

Blinking, Felix glances down at it. It’s been a long time since he’s seen one, and he had no idea Marianne’s family was in possession of one. 

“It’s called Blutgang,” Marianne says. “Do you -- would you like to see it?” 

Felix nods, forgetting to be contrary when presented with a sword he’s never seen before -- especially a hero’s relic, though all of them lost their power when Rhea fell. The slightly-curved blade has a strange, almost reptilian-like design, and the crest stone -- while nothing but a pretty bauble set in the hilt, now -- reminds him of some kind of all-seeing eye.

Felix turns it, feels the weight of the blade and the slight electricity that zings through his hand and makes him think of a levin sword; except the way this particular weapon calls on his magic is completely different. 

Levin swords channel lightning magic on behalf of the caster, while this sword seems to be digging in deep and searching through his reason magic, looking for something that will work. It’s less like wielding a sword and more like being wielded _by_ it; he can only imagine how unsettling it would be, charged with the power it no longer possesses. 

“It works best with offensive faith magic,” Marianne says, expertly reading his expression. “Or it used to, though I never much liked using it. I...my family’s crest, it was cursed. The sword felt the same way.” 

Huh. Felix moves into a fighting stance. The sword _tugs_ at him. He doesn’t much like it, though it’s certainly unusual. 

“I heard when Rhea fell, Emperor Edelgard asked for all the relics to be sent to her in Enbarr so she could destroy them,” Marianne says. “I considered sending that one along with the messenger for her to do it to this one, but...I suppose I was worried.” She sighs. “It’s silly.” 

“No,” Felix says, shaking his head. He understands. He’s not superstitious about things as a rule, but he’s always had a healthy respect for weapons that channel magic. “I get it.” 

She gives a little nod. “I thought you might. Anyway, His Majesty said you like weapons and were a mortal savant, and I recall you favored a levin sword. I thought maybe it would feel the same. But it doesn’t, does it?” 

Felix shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t. But I’m not scared of it,” he adds, a little defensively. Cursed or no, there is no blade on earth that Felix would fear. Maybe the Sword of the Creator, but that was, like all the rest of them, just a sword, now. 

“I -- when I was in Enbarr,” Felix says, still turning Blutgang this way and that, accustoming himself to its odd weight and the pull toward his magic. “A lot of people brought their relics to her. Edelgard, I mean.” 

They were just weapons, now, without Rhea and...whatever she’d been. But they were still symbols of a toppled regime, and Felix supposes there is still some power in that. He can understand why Edelgard wants to lock them all away. 

Sylvain brought the Lance of Ruin personally, accompanying Mercedes, who was there to see her brother. It was the last time Felix had seen Sylvain. It had not gone well. 

_Just come back with us, please, Felix! I can’t just leave you here. We’re restoring Gautier, you could --_

_No. I told you, Sylvain. I won’t go back._

Felix wonders what happened to his father’s own relic, the Aegis Shield, after Rodrigue fell in Arianrhod. If it is behind glass in some Imperial vault, alongside Dimitri’s Areadbhar. He’s never asked. He doesn’t really want to know. 

“Anyway, please, if you’d like to have it...I don’t really want it around. His Majesty said we could throw it in a lake and make a legend out of it, if you didn’t want it.” 

Felix snorts. Of course that’s what Claude would say. 

Marianne’s family’s relic is just a sword, pulling at whatever magic Felix wants to give it, but it can’t do anything on its own. Just a sword. Felix starts moving into a familiar form, but it’s a bit too heavy for his liking and his favorite style. 

“I never liked it,” Marianne says, from where she’s watching. “Even though it was gifted to me after I purified the curse on my family’s crest, it felt...like a fog. Like it wanted to drag me back there.” She shivers a bit. “Perhaps it is only that I was never much of a fighter.” 

Felix leaps and turns in the air, twists his wrist. “Offensive faith magic is the hardest to learn. Maybe you didn’t like fighting, but I bet you were good at it.” 

Marianne’s laugh is soft and sad. “I stayed alive. Some people didn’t. I -- um. I guess that’s...something.” She sounds, for a moment, like she used to back at school. 

“Yeah.” Felix gives his own harsh little laugh and lets it go. There’s no point in rehashing a war that’s over. They’re different people now. 

Neither of them speak as Felix runs through a few forms, learning the weight of the sword. Once he gets used to the sensation of it, the weight, it’s not a bad sword. Unique. No one else has one like it. He doesn’t care what it used to be. Felix turns to her with a small smile -- and bows. “Thank you. I think I know why you gave it to me.” 

“Oh? Why -- why’s that?” 

“Unpleasant, spiky, takes some getting used to?” He arches a brow at her. “Want me to spell it out?” 

Marianne colors and she puts a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shake. Felix is briefly horrified that he’s made her cry until he realizes that she’s not crying, she’s _laughing_. 

Felix stands there, holding a relic made of bones and watches Marianne laugh. Some knot of tension he’s been carrying around for the last year eases. “I’m not wrong, am I.” 

“It’s really not why, I promise,” Marianne says, taking her hands away from her mouth. “But maybe you’re not wrong.” 

They smile at each other. Felix wonders how long it’s been, since he’s made a proper friend. At Garreg Mach he was too angry all time -- with Dimitri’s false mask of perfect princely propriety, with Sylvain’s channeling his uncertainty about the future into womanizing, with Ingrid doubling-down on the lectures to try and recapture some idyllic version of a life she’d never learned to let go of. 

Other than Annette before the war - and to some extent Bernandetta, who Felix at least understood on a conceptual level as a fellow submissive and introvert -- Felix couldn’t say he was very good at making friends. But it seems as if perhaps he’s making one, here. 

Marianne doesn’t linger, merely bids him to enjoy the sword and says, again, he’s welcome to dispose of it if it’s not his liking. Felix thanks her, and when she’s gone, he gives in to his curiosity and tries to use his magic with it -- he didn’t want to try with someone in the room in case something happened. But nothing happens, just a dull sort of throb and the sword is nothing, in the end, but a sword. 

Unless -- Felix smiles a bit, and with a quick glance around the empty training area, concentrates on summoning his crest. Normally they only manifest in times of stress or danger, but Felix feels his begin to build like a storm -- and with a leap, a graceful twist and a forward thrust of his hand, the elegant lines of his major crest flare to life and he splinters the wood of the dummy into veritable toothpicks. 

It’s been awhile since he’s felt that, and he wonders if it only happened because of the lingering, innate fear that using a hero’s relic without the right crest will turn him into a beast. 

“Wow. What did that dummy ever do to you?” 

Felix turns his head, and there’s Claude, leaning against one of the ornate wooden pillars, watching him. 

“Looked at me funny,” says Felix. 

Claude smiles, but there’s a tension in his shoulders as he pulls off his colorful sash and unbuttons his coat, shrugging it off until he’s also only dressed in an undershirt and trousers, and those fine, shiny boots with their elaborate embroidery that go all the way up to his thighs. “What do you think of Blutgang?” 

Felix might not be adept at small talk, but he can certainly discuss weapons. “It’s heavier than I prefer. I don’t care for the shape of the hilt but the design’s interesting. It wants my magic, but when I tried to channel it like I would with a levin sword, it made me feel….” he thinks, wanting to get it right. “Like I had a pinched nerve.” 

“Really?” Claude thinks about that. “Edelgard said she’d take any hero’s relics we didn’t want, but I kept Failnaught -- mostly to give to my mom, since it was her father’s. Hilda still has Freikugal, and probably would have given it to anyone _but_ Edelgard. I tried using Failnaught after the war, but it...felt like any other bow. I have others I like a lot more that aren’t made out of dead people’s bones, or whatever.” 

Claude picks up one of the ornate, curved scimitars. “Want to spar?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, immediately. He always wants to spar. “Not with this sword, though.” He’s too slow with Blutgang, and he doesn’t want to give Claude anything less than his best. 

“Sure. Pick whichever one you want.” Claude stretches a bit, watching as Felix retrieves a simple iron sword from the rack. 

“Should I use a training sword instead?” Felix asks, remembering that Claude is an archer, not a swordsman. 

Claude gives him a little sharp smile, eyes narrowed and chin tilted. It’s as close to _pissy_ as Felix has ever seen on him. “Are you asking me if you should go easy on me, Felix?” 

“You’re the _king_ ,” Felix huffs. He can feel his ears turning red. “I don’t want to end up executed because I went after you with a blade that could hurt you.” 

Claude’s smile widens, but it’s somehow even sharper than before. His eyes are cut-jade cold, assessing. “ _Going after the king_ seems to be on today’s agenda, I wouldn’t worry about it. And that’s bold of you, to assume you’d land a hit no matter what sword you use.” 

Felix is torn between finding this cold-eyed, dangerous version of Claude kind of hot and also fighting the sudden urge to kneel. Claude isn’t in a good mood, and he’s -- fuck, he’s Felix’s _dominant_ , even if it’s only because Felix kind of lives here now and Claude is the king. 

_It’s not just that. At least admit it to yourself. You’re not wearing his collar but you’re still his, and you both know it._

Whatever, be that as it may… Felix will spar anyone regardless of the mood they’re in, usually, as it’s the one thing he knows he’s unquestionably good at. “You fight long-range or mounted. It’s just different, that’s all.” 

“Is it,” says Claude. He flips the scimitar in his hand -- the move is flashy, showy, and Felix thinks he remembers Claude doing that with arrows back at school during mock-battles. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, in his tactless way, because he can tell something _is_ wrong, even if he’s reasonably sure it has nothing really to do with him. The tip of his iron sword is still pointing at the ground. 

Claude twirls the scimitar again. “Are we sparring or not?” 

Felix shrugs, lifts his sword and bows. Claude bows back, and then they spar. 

Felix assumes that Claude will go on the defensive, as most people do who are used to a more long-range fighting style. But Claude surprises him immediately by stepping toward Felix instead of away, his blade flashing as it arcs toward him. Not a bad strategy, of course; knock your enemy off-guard with an unexpected tactic. 

Felix is fast, though, and he’s in his element when fighting in close combat. He’s maybe showing off a little in his own way, ducking and moving with quick twists and turns, falling into the rhythm easy as anything. Felix gets some decent body positioning and goes in with an extension -- Claude uses the back of the scimitar’s blade to knock Felix’s out of the way, then steps in with a twist of his wrist so that the tip of his sword taps against Felix’s shoulder. 

“One for me,” Claude says, and this time, at least, his smile looks a bit more genuine. 

Felix blinks, and then he says, in all sincerity, “Nice move. Show me that later.” 

They square off, bow, and start again. Claude’s already surprised him once; Felix isn’t going to be tricked by the same thing twice. 

Felix has studied nothing but swordsmanship for his whole life, and once he observes a few more of Claude’s attack patterns he starts to press his advantage and work out a strategy. Claude’s reach isn’t as long with his scimitar as it’s a shorter blade than Felix’s rapier, which means Claude has to work his way in closer. 

But Felix’s instincts have been honed to near-perfection to stop anyone from getting in close, and there is probably a metaphor in there somewhere if Felix could catch his breath and think about it. Because even though he’s got the experience and skill, Claude has unpredictability of mind and a weapon Felix doesn’t know on his side. It’s a fun match. Claude’s speed isn’t quite a match for his own, but he thinks more than he reacts -- the opposite of Felix’s own approach -- and it makes for a satisfying match. 

Felix scores the next point, with a thrust that Claude only narrowly misses parrying because he was too busy trying to taunt Felix into messing up. He should know by now that won’t work; Felix grew up with Sylvain, he knows how to ignore a chatterbox when he has to. 

“Last point for the win?” Claude asks, breathing hard, his golden brown skin gleaming with sweat. 

Felix tears his eyes away from how he can see beneath the sweat-soaked white fabric of Claude’s undershirt, enough to make out the dark trail of hair from Claude’s navel down to the waistband of his pants. Maybe there’s one benefit to it being so hot in here, except Claude notices Felix’s gaze -- of course -- and lifts his shirt up to wipe his face, baring those strong abs and that happy trail to Felix’s gaze. 

Asshole. Felix scowls, and Claude laughs. 

“Last point for the win,” Felix agrees, easing into his stance. 

They spar for a few minutes and it’s clear that Felix isn’t the only one figuring out his opponent; Claude, for all his battle-chatter and fancy, flashes moves, is a tactician at heart. Felix’s fighting style is effective but not overly-complicated, and it leads to something of a stalemate after a while as Felix moves inexorably forward and Claude parries -- Felix is relying on his own stubbornness and skill to outlast Claude, to get him on the defensive where he’ll panic and make just one slight mistake for Felix to win. 

But if there’s one thing Felix forgets as their match continues, it’s that Claude is fond of the one thing in battle that Felix can’t stand...taking _risks_. 

Claude dances a few feet back as if retreating... then throws himself down into a front roll _while throwing his sword in the air_ , then reaches up, catches it, and uses the hilt to knock Felix’s knees out from under him before he can even process what he’s seeing. 

Felix falls with a grunt flat on his ass, wincing a bit as he hits the ground. He barely has time to register that was very similar to the move Felix used on _him_ a few days ago before Claude is moving again, kicking Felix’s sword away and moving so he’s straddling Felix, scimitar pressed lightly to his throat. “I win.” 

Felix is annoyed, sweaty, covered in dirt and his tailbone hurts. He scowls. “You can’t throw your sword in the air and do a somersault in a _battle_ , you’re deranged.” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Claude hops up and holds a hand out. 

Felix ignores it and gets to his feet on his own; he’s miffed that he lost to Claude’s _acrobatics_ , even if, fine, he’s a little impressed, too. “If you hadn’t caught that sword I would have won.” 

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Claude is also mussed from his impersonation of an acrobat, dirt-streaked, sweaty, hair disheveled. 

Felix couldn’t look that attractively messy if he tried. 

“So. Again?” 

Felix stares at him, because honestly, he hadn’t expected -- he thought that would probably be enough. Not that he would usually complain about an extended sparring session, but something about Claude still seems _off_ and clearly, winning their match hadn’t fixed it. “What’s wrong?” 

Claude blinks at him. “You like sparring. You were always in the training room back at Garreg Mach, remember?” 

Felix nods. “I remember. But you’re not me, and something’s bothering you.” _And this isn’t the way to fix it, obviously_. 

Claude, for his part, doesn’t drag it out. He shrugs. “I want peace between Fodlan and Almyra. Some of my people do not. They think Fodlan is in a ripe position to invade, given the political turmoil, and the only reason I might object to throwing myself into a war is because I’m half-Fodlan and my wife is from Fodlan. Not that, you know, _maybe I don’t want to go to war._ Then they like to remind me how maybe I’m not cut out to lead, since the last war I was in, I was sent home with my tail between my legs.” Claude rakes a hand through his messy hair. “Even though I’d always planned to come back here and try and establish peace between our countries, even if Edelgard hadn’t decided to fuck the Church and take over the world or whatever.” 

He’s trying to be flippant, but it isn’t working -- especially not if _Felix_ can tell. “Fuck the Church, huh? That’s... sure one way to say that.” 

“I’m sorry.” Claude _does_ actually look apologetic. “I don’t mean to make light, I know what that war cost you.” 

Felix shakes his head. He lost a father who dreamed of dying in service to the Blaiddyd line his whole life, a dukedom he’d never wanted and a territory he’d never been meant to rule. And Felix lost Dimitri long before Edelgard donned her Flame Emperor’s mask and declared war on Rhea and the Church of Seiros. “It’s fine. You just seem stressed out. And here I thought you liked politics.” 

“I like it better than killing people,” Claude says, bluntly. “Even if I maybe had to remind myself of that a few times, today. Anyway.” He tries again to deflect, giving Felix that smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re choosing talking about politics over sparring. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Felix?” 

Felix studies him for a second, then says, “You do the same thing Sylvain always does. Make jokes. Smile. Pretend you don’t care. You even do the same -- same thing with your hands.” Felix shows him by putting his hands behind his head in Sylvain’s favorite post, chin tilted, even if he can’t quite manage the same lazy, empty smile. 

Claude twirls his scimitar. “Figured me out, have you?” 

“I didn’t say that. I just figured out you’re in a bad mood,” Felix says. “I don’t know if I ever would have noticed back at school, though.” 

“No one ever did,” Claude agrees. “But I’m not in a bad mood, it’s just been a day. So, do you want to go again or not?” 

Of course he does, Felix loves sparring and honestly -- he sort of wants Claude to teach him how to do that move with the somersault (though with a wooden sword maybe, not the scimitar.) But instead, he finds himself doing the last thing he expects -- he returns the iron sword to the rack, goes over to Claude and then...he kneels, right there on the dirt floor, and bows his head. 

Submitting. 

“Felix?” 

This is, more than anything, the hardest thing that Felix thinks he’s ever done. He’s kneeling instead of sparring. He’s kneeling when he’s not been told to. Claude isn’t making him. He just wants to do it, because he thinks it might help. And in that moment, he wants Claude to feel better more than he wants anything. 

“Felix,” Claude says, again. He sighs. “You pick the weirdest times to submit without a fight.” 

“You just gave me one. A good one. And you won,” Felix points out, even though they both know he’s talking about sparring. Felix sighs and keeps his gaze on the ground. “And you don’t want a fight, not about -- about this. You’re just expecting one.” 

_Because I always fight you. I make you earn it. I never just give it up because you need it._

“I thought that’s what you wanted. What you needed.” 

“It is,” Felix says. There’s still sweat in his eyes and he’s breathing hard, but now it’s from something other than exertion. Can he do this? Submit not for his own relief, but for Claude’s? “But you don’t need it. Not right now.” He’s uncertain enough that he glances up, briefly. “Do you?” He could be wrong -- Claude is the most complicated person that Felix has ever met. 

“No,” Claude says, stepping closer. “No, I really don’t. I’ve had enough combat for the day, and I’m not talking about our sparring match.” 

“Then I’m not going to fight.” It’s so hard. It’s _so hard_ , because Felix’s entire nature is combative and fighting is all he knows. But after everything Claude has done for him, Felix thinks this isn’t that much to ask. 

And he wants this. He _wants_ to make Claude feel better. He really does, and that’s new and strange and hard for Felix to process and deal with, but...it’s still the truth. 

Claude’s fingers go to Felix’s hair, a braid now only in the loosest sense of the word after their sparring match. “I want to take you to bed, have you do every single thing I say without arguing, and then I want to fuck you until you’re begging me to let you come.” 

Felix inhales sharply, still not entirely used to Claude’s filthy mouth -- even though he likes it more than he probably lets on. Claude hasn’t actually fucked him yet, and Felix can’t say he hasn’t been waiting for it. 

Claude’s fingers drift down and tip Felix’s chin up. He’s staring down at Felix and all hints of his earlier false affability have vanished. “I’m wondering what I did to earn this.” 

Felix says, after a moment, “No one ever said you had to take --” _care of me_ , he can’t say it -- “...responsibility for me. When I came here. But you did.” 

“I’m the king, Felix,” Claude says, stroking the side of Felix’s face. “I take care of everyone, that’s what it means.” 

_Only if you’re a good one._ Felix is so close to telling him everything in that moment that he thinks if Claude asked, he would. Spill the whole sordid story, right here, like blood on the dirt. 

But Claude doesn’t ask, and Felix doesn’t mind making this, for once, not about _him_. 

“I’m -- your submissive,” Felix says, because that’s true enough even if he’s not wearing Claude’s collar. “You’ve earned it.” That’s certainly true -- no one’s ever made him _want_ to submit before. 

“And you want me to use you?” Claude asks, pressing his thumb behind Felix’s lower teeth and hooking at his jaw. He’s done this before. 

Oddly, not having to _say_ it makes it easier to admit. Felix nods, once, and he doesn’t miss the way Claude’s eyes go dark, or the sharp, interested inhale of breath. 

“All right,” Claude says, and smiles -- and this time, it reaches his eyes. He takes his hand away, and Felix feels a momentary, brief pang for the loss of Claude’s fingers in his mouth. “Let’s go.” 

***  
Felix half-expects Claude to drag him into the baths because they’re both messy, but he doesn’t. He just takes Felix into the royal suite and tells Felix to strip. 

Felix takes off his clothes and then, remembering the rules, takes the tie from the end of his braid and drags his fingers through his hair. It was pretty much a lost cause anyway; his hair doesn’t like to be contained neatly, be it in a ponytail, a topknot, _or_ a braid. Felix makes it because wearing it down makes him look too much like his -- 

Makes him look not like himself. 

Claude is sitting on a chair across from the bed, still in his undershirt and pants, pulling off his boots while he watches Felix strip. He sees Felix with his hair unbound and smiles. “You are being good, aren’t you?” 

“I guess,” Felix says, because he’s trying but he’s still -- well. Himself. “I mean. This might be as good as I can be.” 

Claude laughs and stands up, stretches his gorgeous body and walks barefoot over to his wardrobe. Felix stares unabashedly at how his ass looks in his tight pants, feeling his cheeks heat because Claude turns around and totally catches him doing it, but it’s not like he doesn’t know by now that Felix thinks he’s hot. 

Claude’s holding a scarf, and for a second Felix can’t breathe, thinking about how he told Claude from the beginning that he didn’t want to be blindfolded. The thought of it, of not being able to see -- it terrifies him, but for maybe the first time he thinks about it what it might be like to let someone do it to him. Not that he’s going to ask, and if _Claude_ did, he’d probably say no. 

But it’s something to think about, maybe. Later. 

The only thing Claude does with the scarf is press it into Felix’s hand. “I had a lot of people arguing with me today,” Claude says. “Or trying to. So I’m going to put you under voice restrictions. You speak when I ask you a question, and that’s it. But if you need to stop, just drop that, or wave it to get my attention.” 

Felix nods, but since it wasn’t a question, he stays quiet. He can see Claude relaxing with every rule of his that Felix follows; from the one about his hair to not speaking (not really difficult, if Felix is honest) and Felix realizes that he likes this, being able to make Claude relax. 

Is this how it feels for him, too? Felix is almost embarrassed when he realizes that he’s never thought too much about how this is also satisfying _Claude_ ’s need, and that it might relax _him_ like it does for Felix. Which seems stupid that he didn’t consider it before, and shows Felix how up in his own head he is. 

He thinks about that last time he tried to do something for someone else -- a dominant, a _king_ \-- and shivers. Claude, because he’s the most perceptive person on the entire planet, notices. Of course he does. 

“Everything okay?” 

Felix nods, then remembers that he can speak if it’s a question. Not that he has all that much to say. “Yeah.” 

Claude looks like he might not believe him, but Felix -- Felix wants to do this, and he wants it to be about _Claude_ right now, not him. He’s only felt like this once before, and it ended so badly. He wants it to go right this time. Like it’s supposed to. 

“What do you do, if you need me to stop?” 

“Drop the scarf, or wave it around like a fool to get your attention.” Felix is almost certain he’s not going to need to stop. 

Claude snorts a laugh and kisses him. “Go lay on the bed for me. On your back, your arms up just like the first time. Don’t move them unless I tell you.” 

Felix nods and goes to the bed. He feels a little strange, honestly, given that this is the bed Claude usually shares with his wife and Felix is also still sweaty from sparring -- and even a little dusty from being knocked on the dirt floor. So is Claude, for that matter. 

He must look a little hesitant because Claude says, “I’ll have someone change the bedding, don’t worry. I deserve a _few_ kingly perks after all the arguing today, yeah?” 

Felix climbs on the bed, arms stretched up over his head and his wrists crossed, the scarf held tight in his hands. Claude doesn’t bother taking off anything else, he just climbs up on the bed and straddles Felix, then leans down to kiss him. 

Claude is very good at kissing, which is a thing Felix never thought he was that into until he came here. Claude kisses him and he feels dizzy, unable to catch his breath, shifting beneath Claude’s weight and feeling his cock get hard. 

“You’re so sweet,” Claude says, and Felix -- he is _not_ , he’s literally the opposite, is this some weird kind of torment meant to hurt him? But Claude doesn’t seem like he’s trying to do that, he’s just running his hands down Felix’s chest and kissing at his neck, his shoulder. 

Claude flashes that smile of his -- the one that’s real, the one that makes Felix as breathless as his kisses -- and laughs in delight. “You want to argue with me and tell me you’re not sweet, don’t you?”

It’s a question, so Felix answers it. “Of course.” 

“But you are,” Claude says, and he starts _biting_ , down Felix’s chest, lower over his stomach. “You are sweet, at least you are for me. Isn’t that right?” He shoves Felix’s legs apart, ignores his cock -- hard now and lying flush on his stomach -- and glances up at him. “I asked you a question.” 

Why did he think being under voice restrictions meant he wouldn’t have to talk? Of course it doesn’t mean that. He remembers, very vividly, Claude promising him he wouldn’t have to say things that weren’t true -- but Claude’s isn’t asking him to lie. Claude’s only asking to hear what they both know is the truth. 

Felix swallows. “Sweeter than I am for most people,” he says. 

Claude grins, and he presses a kiss to the inside of Felix’s thigh. “Sweet like Almyran pine with a hint of sugar, that’s you. You like this, don’t you? Being under me. Being mine.” 

“Yeah,” says Felix, softly. 

“Good.” Claude sounds so pleased, so _happy_ , that Felix can’t even be mad about admitting it. “I like you here. Right here. Sweet for me.” He looks up, those sharp bright green eyes of his staring right into Felix’s fucking _soul_ , and for once, Felix doesn’t feel an urge to look away. 

Claude presses a kiss to his thigh, then gives him a sharp bite. 

The air between them feels so charged, desperate. Claude bites him on the thigh, and Felix knows it’s not because he did something wrong. The pain shudders through him and he bites his lower lip, inhaling sharply, trying to stay quiet. 

“You can make noise, if you want,” Claude says, still completely avoiding Felix’s cock, like all he intends to do is drive Felix crazy by nipping and biting at his upper inner thighs. He moves again, all sleek, graceful muscles, and straddles Felix’s hips. 

Felix blinks, unsure what he’s doing -- and then Claude puts his hands on Felix’s chest and drags his short nails down, hard enough to leave red marks over his already scarred skin. His back arches up, cock twitching from the sudden sting of the scratches to the way Claude’s thighs feel around his hips. 

“Ah,” Claude says, shivering. “The way you’re moving beneath me -- do you like this?” 

“Yeah.” Felix is sure he sounds like a broken record, but he does like it. Both the way Claude feels scratching him up, turning his fair skin red, and the way he looks while he’s doing it -- so satisfied and so relaxed. 

Claude goes back a bit on his haunches and gives one last scratch down Felix’s chest. He smiles. “Turn over.” 

Felix gives a slight groan -- he’s turned on, he doesn’t want to get his cock _away_ from Claude, but he does as bidden and turns over on his stomach. The friction against his cock makes him hiss, and he fights the urge to rub himself against the bedding beneath him. 

Claude settles again, and then smacks Felix on his ass. 

Felix smushes his face against the pillow. He’s thinking about what Claude said, about spanking him if he broke a rule. It makes his face hot, makes his hips push against the bed. He doesn’t want that. He can’t possibly want that. And yet the thought of it has him so hot he can’t think straight. 

Claude laughs and leans in, mouthing at the now-fading mark on the back of Felix’s neck. “I can give you a rule to break if you want. Or you can just ask me to spank you.”

Thankfully there’s no question in there, so Felix closes his eyes and breathes, lets himself get lost in the way Claude feels with his strong thighs tight around Felix’s hips and his nails scratching down Felix’s back. 

Claude’s not scratching him hard enough to bleed, but he’s doing it with intent; short nails digging into the muscles of Felix’s back, dragging down slow as he makes Felix writhe in pure pleasure below him. He can feel that Claude is hard in his pants, and something about being fully naked with his hair unbound while Claude sits clothed on his back and scratches him the fuck up -- yeah, it’s really doing it for Felix, and from the pleased sounds Claude is making, it’s doing it for him, too. 

He talks, because of course he does. “Does it hurt?” he asks, nails raking Felix’s back. 

“Yes,” Felix answers, pushing up on his elbows, wanting more, _more_. 

“Do you like it?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Felix moans, and he’s never thought of himself as that much of a masochist but somehow Claude manages to hit just the right note of pain and control, and it makes Felix’s cock ache, gets him panting and desperate for it. 

“You’re so good for me, do you know that? I’m going to make you come so hard when I fuck you, do you want it?” 

“Yeah, I’ve -- wanted it for -- days --” Felix is finding it a lot easier to say these things when he can mumble them into a pillow. 

“Oh, yeah? You can ask me, you know that, right?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says. “I know.” 

Claude pulls Felix’s hair hard, there’s nothing playful about it and Felix really does sort of feel like a wyvern. “I’m going to find you a bit, some reins, maybe a muzzle. I don’t care if it’s weird, I think you’ll look hot and I think it would be fun, and Felix, I like having fun and I think no one ever told you that submitting doesn’t have to be miserable, you’re allowed to have a good time, you know.” 

Felix is pretty out of it at this point, so hard he’s fucking the mattress as best he can with Claude’s weight on his back, so it takes him a second to realize there’s no question in that statement and he can’t say anything. He actually _wants_ to, though, but of course what he wants to do is _argue_ \-- this has never been fun for him, it’s always been something caught between a horrible necessity and an unwanted burden. 

Claude bites down Felix’s back, not quite with the same pressure he’d left that bite on Felix’s neck but enough that it makes Felix writhe and moan and curl his fingers into the bedding. 

“If you want me to fuck you,” Claude says, breath hot on Felix’s shoulder, “Beg me.” 

Felix opens his mouth, but then he stops. It wasn’t a question, and Claude put him on voice restrictions so he doesn’t know what to do. Is this a trick? Is Claude trying to get him in trouble? Felix’s arms are still up over his head and he’s still grasping the scarf, so he waves it a bit just because he honestly doesn’t know what to do, and this is supposed to be for Claude. 

Claude goes still, stops, and climbs off him. “Everything okay?” 

Felix blinks. He’s still not sure what to do, and then Claude gives a little huff of a laugh and says, “Oh, wow, my fault. Uh. What’s up? You can talk.” 

Felix turns his head and looks at him -- and Claude is...he looks hot, he always does, but this time he also sort of looks embarrassed. “I didn’t know if you were trying to get me in trouble or what.” 

Claude rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Nah, I just got a little carried away, there. That was good that you stopped me to ask. I’m glad.” Claude leans in and kisses him, gently, smoothing his hair back. “I’ll take you off voice restrictions, so now you can beg me for it.” 

Felix _does_ want Claude to fuck him. Begging, though...he hates that word. It makes him feel weak, and it makes him think about the one time he did beg and meant it and how wrong it went. He takes a deep breath and chases the memory back where it belongs. This isn’t about him, right now, but maybe he can make a better memory. An association that doesn’t make him despise himself. 

“I -- please,” Felix mumbles, into the pillow. 

“Hmm.” Claude gives his ass another smack and laughs when Felix jumps from the impact. It’s not hard and he doesn’t think it’s meant as a _spanking_ , but since he’s allowed to talk, now…

“Is that because I did it wrong?” 

“Huh? Oh.” Claude rubs his hand over Felix’s ass. “No, it’s because I like your ass. Trust me, if you have to ask, I’m not spanking you.” 

Heat rushes over Felix, along with the burn of humiliation and he _really_ doesn’t understand why he won’t tell Claude it’s a hard limit. How he can be so disgusted by the idea of something, and yet -- 

“Watching you fight yourself is frustrating and sexy, how do you manage that, anyway?” Claude asks. “A question for another time. I want you on your back, so I can see your face. No hiding from me when I fuck you.” 

Felix shivers and rolls over, watching as Claude finds some oil and pushes Felix’s legs apart so he can kneel up between them. He’s still half-dressed, bare-chested now but still in his pants. He unlaces them and takes his cock in hand, eyes going half-closed as he slicks himself up. Felix watches, noting how the tension in Claude’s shoulders is different now. His attention is all on Felix, just like before when they were sparring, but this time there’s nothing flashy or distracting about what he’s doing. 

Well. It’s distracting because it’s hot, but it’s _genuine_ , and that’s the difference. Felix did that by submitting. It feels good in a way that should make Felix feel nervous or antsy, but instead he just hears himself say, “Please, fuck me, I want you to.” 

Claude inhales a sharp breath and his hand stalls on his cock for a moment. “You think you’re such a handful, but the thing you don’t get, Felix, is how _worth it_ you are.” 

Something burns, sudden and hot, behind his eyes. For one horrifying moment, Felix thinks he might cry -- not because he’s being choked or smacked or put in his place, but from the _praise_. He’s always hated that before, but somehow it’s different to be praised for the thing you’ve always been convinced is the reason no one would want to put up with you. 

Which is only making it worse. Felix hears his own shaky breath, and he can feel Claude’s too-perceptive gaze as he fights down the lump of emotion in his throat. Honestly, does he constantly have to pick the worst possible time to work through his fucking issues, or what? 

Claude could take this somewhere if he wanted, and they both know it. Could reduce Felix to a stripped-down, shuddering mess there on his back in his bed, turn him inside out and lay bare every insecurity and fear Felix has -- but instead he leans in and kisses him, almost sweetly, and says, “Ask me for what you want.” 

The choice is his, Felix realizes. Claude’s in a good mood, and Claude clearly wants to fuck him, but if Felix needed him to force him under and make him _cry_ , he would. At the expense of his own pleasure, which is...fuck. 

And that’s when Felix understands why this has never worked, before. Why he’s never really been able to go under or let someone really have him -- and while that’s a thing he’ll need to think about, he tucks it away for later because right now he really just wants to stop _thinking_. “Fuck me, please,” Felix asks, and even after all of this it’s still hard to make himself do it. 

But he can still hear Claude’s voice, saying _you’re worth it_ , and that -- means something. A lot. It might mean everything. 

Felix puts his arms above his head, crossed at the wrist. He tips his head back and bares his throat. 

“You have no idea what that does to me,” Claude says, voice low and rough, hand settling around Felix’s throat. 

“Show me,” Felix says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Please.” 

And so Claude does. 

Felix has been fucked before, and he’s fucked people; war is unpleasant and lonely and sometimes you just need to feel good to not give in to the sheer, unrelenting misery of it. He rarely did it with any real intention to have his submissive urges satisfied, though; in fact, he’d swing the opposite way and try to fuck away the urge to be pinned down and railed to within an inch of his life. It never really worked, even if it felt good while he was doing it. 

This is nothing like those times, or even the very few rare instances he _did_ attempt to submit through sex. Claude uses the oil and fingers him open, murmuring about tight Felix is, how good he’s going to feel around Claude’s cock, how much Claude can’t wait to fuck him hard and feel him come around him. 

Felix has never been very vocal but he makes noise -- gasps up at the ceiling, moans when Claude’s fingers rub over his prostate, twitches and writhes and fights the urge to touch himself as Claude ramps up the tension, higher and higher. Felix is desperate by the time Claude pulls his fingers free and shoves his pants down his hips, though he doesn’t bother to strip them all the way off. He seems as impatient as Felix. 

It’s good, but of course it is -- Claude isn’t too rough but he doesn’t hesitate, pushing Felix’s knees up to his chest and carefully pushing his cock inside. They both moan; Claude says something in his native language and Felix’s cock throbs where it’s lying flush against his stomach, because he doesn’t know what Claude is saying but the heated, impatient tone is one he definitely understands. 

Claude kisses him and manages to say, “put your legs around me,” in the language they both speak, so he does and then it’s just… _good_ , and rough in the way Felix wants it to be, Claude fucking him and Felix taking it, legs wrapped tight around Claude’s lean hips. 

“You can -- touch me,” Claude manages, and Felix does, grabbing onto his shoulders and shivering in pleasure as Claude’s angle shifts inside him and he rubs over Felix’s prostate with every thrust. He normally likes to be on his hands and knees for this, has always found this position far too intimate but -- as with most things, he’s discovering -- it’s different, with Claude. 

Claude looks gorgeous when he’s fucking Felix, face flushed and panting with this little half-grin that makes him almost too attractive to be real. Felix is greedy with his permission to touch, running over Claude’s sweat-slick back, feeling the play of muscles there as they slide lower to curve around Claude’s ass and pull him closer, harder, _faster_. 

“Greedy, yeah?” Claude pants, fucking Felix harder. “This what you want?” 

“Fuck, yes,” Felix moans, and for the next few long minutes it’s not about submission or dominance or anything but pleasure; it’s just Claude pounding him into the mattress, so hard that Felix can feel the echo of it in his hips, up his spine, throbbing and pushing him so close to the edge he doesn’t even think he’ll need a hand on himself to come. 

Claude tangles his fingers in Felix’s hair and kisses him, gasping as he comes with a few last, hard thrusts of his hips. Felix kisses him back, trembling, pushing his hips up to grind against Claude and draw out his pleasure as long as he can. Felix is so close that just the feeling of his cock sliding against Claude’s firm abs is nearly enough to make him come, too. 

Claude kisses him and laughs softly -- he can tell, of course. “You want my hand?” 

Felix manages to shake his head, pushing up, sliding his cock against Claude’s stomach. “Just -- like this -- I’m so close --” 

Claude makes a pleased noise and blinks his pretty green eyes down at Felix, then helps him out by pushing down and tensing his muscles. “That’s it, yeah, so hot -- good, you can come whenever you want--” 

Felix doesn’t even wait for him to finish; coming hard and practically thrashing beneath Claude as he makes a mess of them both. He’s sweat-soaked and sore and feels blissful, and he’s barely aware of how he’s grabbing Claude’s shoulder with one hand, the other resting on Claude’s lower back to press him closer. Once the last shuddering pulse of his orgasm fades, Felix practically melts back into the mattress and tries to breathe. 

He wants a bath, some water, something to eat -- but for the moment, despite what a mess he is and how he’s too hot and _Claude_ is too hot -- literally and figuratively -- on top of him, it’s the closest thing to peaceful Felix has felt in a long time. And he’s not under, or at least not like he’s been before, he’s just...happy. 

Claude’s sprawled on top of him, head resting between Felix’s neck and shoulder, and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to move. Very carefully, mindful of the reaction he gets and tentative because he’s not one for post-sex cuddling, Felix runs his hands up and down Claude’s back, through his hair. 

He clears his throat. “Do you, uh...feel better?” 

“Mmhm,” Claude says, against Felix’s neck. He seems to like the affectionate touches, so Felix -- as awkward as he feels doing it -- keeps it up. “You good?” 

That’s one word for it. “M’hot,” Felix says. “Sticky.” 

“Yeah,” Claude says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “You are. It’s gross.” 

Felix is startled into a soft snort of laughter. He punches him on the shoulder. “Your fault.” 

Claude lifts his head and grins, unrepentant as ever, then kisses Felix and climbs off him -- then half falls as he’s obviously forgotten his pants are still around his knees. 

Felix laughs out loud. Claude flips him off, then promptly sits at the edge of the bed to take his pants off. He’s maybe blushing. He really _is_ kind of dork. “Not my smoothest moment, huh.” 

“Nope,” says Felix. 

“You want a bath?” Claude asks, standing there unabashedly naked and grinning, hair a mess and sticky with Felix’s come still on his stomach. 

_I think I want to wear your collar,_ Felix thinks, with a little thrill of fear. Out loud, all he says is, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you haven't seen the AMAZING art for this fic courtesy of Midnightsinner5, [please do so, here!](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/ETpTqQrWoAEbRlT?format=jpg&name=large) (SFW: It's Felix kneeling and Claude in a chair, tilting his face up with two fingers and I LOVE IT) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! Stay tuned for some domesticity and also, the plot advances. Such as it is. This fic is so self-indulgent, that's really the plot, haha.


	10. kings and queens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Hilda have a nice moment and a chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this to get quite so long (<\---- story of my life as an author), but it did, and I love Claude and Hilda _a lot_ , have I mentioned this? Also poly dynamics of couples talking about their other partners is a thing I Am Into. As a poly person myself, I like to write communicative polyships. It's my kink, along with banter and Claude's core strength I guess?? 
> 
> CW for explicit sexual content, since I guess Claude just gets laid more than anyone ever but I mean, he's earned it.

“So,” Hilda says from her work table, where she’s stringing some beads together on a piece of wire, “are you thinking black leather, or blue?” 

Claude, sprawled on their bed reading a book, glances up at that. “Considering the book I’m reading is about statecraft and not sexy things like leather, I’m not thinking about either. I’m willing to negotiate, though, because this book is also boring.” He snaps it closed. 

“You need some new books.” Hilda holds up her creation for a moment. It has yellow and green beads, so it must be for him. “Well, start thinking about it. If you want me to make it, I need, like. Measurements. And some supplies.” 

This is not the first time this has happened, wherein Hilda is six steps ahead of Claude in a conversation he doesn’t remember involving him. “Make what?” 

“A collar for Felix,” Hilda says. “Duh, Claude. I’d say you could make it yourself, but I remember what happened during Golden Deer craft night.” She quints at him, looks at her creation, frowns, and goes back to work with her head bent over her desk. 

“You’re so cute,” says Claude, smiling. “And I wasn’t _that_ bad at craft night.” 

“I know I am, and yes, you were. You sewed a button backwards onto the cuff of your shirt and it wasn’t even _your_ button -- or your shirt! Also, stop trying to change the subject.” She glances up at him. “I think blue would look pretty, but it might make him think about Faerghus, and _that’s_ no good. But black seems kinda dour, and honestly, he could use a bit of color to brighten up that personality of his.” 

“Hilda--” 

“What? Ooh, what are your thoughts on, hmm, a teal? That’d look nice with his eyes, and it’s not _blue_ blue, so, you know, less mopey. He definitely needs less mopey.” 

“ _Hilda_!” Claude protests, though okay, she’s not wrong about that. “I think black is more his style than teal, but that’s not the point. I don’t even know if Felix wants my collar.” 

“Is it that, or just that you think Edelgard is gonna restart the Church of Seiros and annoint herself archbishop before Felix ever _asks_ you for it?” Hilda walks over and holds her small charm thing up with a smile, dangling it in front of him. “What do you think?” 

“That it’ll look great in my hair?” Claude actually has no idea what the thing is. “Is that what it’s for?”  
“What, no, it’s for your _wyvern_. Altaira needs some accessories.” Hilda runs her fingers through his hair. “But I can make one for you, too, if you want.” She scratches at his head, and then steals the book and tosses it on the bed. “Back to what I was saying, though.” 

Claude blinks, and then he finds himself with a lap full of Hilda. “Hi.” 

“Sweetheart. Darling love.” She pauses, her eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah? What?” 

Hilda shakes her head, leans in and kisses him. “You’re an idiot. You want him, I can tell.” 

“Sure,” Claude says, holding her close and pressing slow, hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck. “I don’t think I’ve acted like I haven’t, have I? Mm. You smell so good. Like flowers and bubblegum. But you sort of taste like vanilla? You’re like a cute baked treat.” 

“You’re like a cute dumb idiot that I can’t believe I love, sometimes,” is Hilda’s return, but she smiles at him and wraps her arms around his neck. “And I know what you’re like when you’re falling for someone, moron.” 

“Are other queens this mean to their kings, I wonder,” Claude muses, nosing at the soft, sweet spot right between her breasts. 

She gives a sexy, husky little laugh and wriggles on top of him. “They are when their kings like it this much. Also, your mom acts like this with your dad, so.” 

“Hilda, my queen, light of my life, _please_ don’t talk about my parents while we’re making out.” His fingers dance over the laces on her top -- Hilda tends toward Fodlan attire when they’re in private, and it just so happens to be very easy to remove -- and then he gives the bodice a little tug to bare her truly magnificent breasts. He gives a nice lusty sigh and cups them in his hands. 

“Mmm, I love how your hands feel on me.” Hilda’s fingers are tangled in his hair, and she kisses him while he plays with her breasts. “Can I watch you with him, sometime? I won’t lie, it _really_ gets me going to think about you making Mr. Scowly Face behave himself.” 

“If you could not call him that,” Claude asks, breathing hard as she drops a hand down to tease at his pants. “But sure, if you want. What’s mine is yours, right?” He tosses her top on the floor and slides his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt up to feel her smooth, hot skin. 

“That’s right.” She grabs at his hair with one hand, grinding herself against his thigh while she works at the laces on his pants. “But I bet you wouldn’t let me play with him, would you?” 

“Um,” Claude says, his brain breaking a little at the thought of that. He doesn’t think Felix and Hilda have very complementary personalities, for all they’re a submissive and a dominant. Hilda likes to be bossy and then obeyed, meaning she’d find Felix way too much work and even if she did get him under, he’d probably come up immediately when confronted with her particular brand of top-headspace. 

Though it’s kind of funny to imagine Felix sitting on an ornate, comfortable pillow, mending something while Hilda brushed his hair and told him how sweet he was. Actually, wait, he’d liked that when Claude did it, so, who knows. 

“What’s so funny, huh?” She pulls his head back, giving him mock glare, still working her hand down into his pants to get at his cock. 

“Just a little delighted with my life right now, that’s all,” says Claude, which isn’t a lie. “Are you going to ride me with this skirt on or off?” 

“What makes you think I’m going to ride you?” Hilda tosses her head, pigtails whipping around so much that Claude has to duck a bit to avoid being hit in the face with her hair. She’s such a menace. His menace. Aw. 

“You climbed on my lap,” Claude says, tugging on her skirt. “It seemed like that’s what you were up to, when you started, you know. Undoing my pants?” 

“Honestly, I was just going to fool around a bit and get you all hot and bothered, I can’t help it that you’re so gorgeous when I do that.” She smiles down at him, that look on her face that he likes so much, somewhere between sweet and mischievous. “What, are you not in the mood?” 

“You have your hand down my pants, you can’t tell that I am most definitely in the mood?” Claude slides his hands up her waist, pulling her closer to kiss at her breasts. Hilda makes a soft little sound and he pushes at the waistband of her skirt, pulling it down along with her underwear, sucking on her nipples while trying to navigate all the fabric down her legs. 

Then she’s naked his lap, with his back to the headboard and his legs out straight on the bed. Hilda scoots back on his thighs enough to get his cock out, her hand rubbing up and down the length of it. Claude plays with her breasts and just sort of stares at her, his wife, this woman of a thousand idiosyncrasies; she beheads people with an axe, makes jewelry for wyverns and has carefully and patiently dismantled her beloved submissive’s intense feelings of worthlessness while somehow still being too impatient to learn how to string her own bow when she practices archery with Claude. 

Hilda, who’d been raised from the cradle with a thousand stupid, xenophobic and harmful stereotypes about Alymra...dismantled all of them with brutal efficiency once she put her mind to it. Which he’s glad she did, because he never could have brought her here to live if she hadn’t. 

Hilda kisses him and slides down on his cock, making a shivery little sound that’s part gasp, part moan as he pushes up into her slick heat. She grabs one of his hands and brings it down to press between her legs. “Make me come.” 

“Mmm, of course, Your Majesty.” He smiles and rubs at her clit with his thumb, enjoying how she gets so wet for him, so fast. His other hand teases her nipples, pulling at them and giving them a little pinch that he knows she likes. She’s always rougher in bed with him than Marianne, pulling his hair and bouncing on his lap and digging her nails into his shoulders so hard, he can feel the sting even through his shirt. 

“You mm-- sure are getting laid a lot, recently.” 

“Is that a problem?” He tries for a smug grin, manages it for a few seconds before she leans back and braces herself on his thighs, changing the angle and giving him a show that is so hot he nearly comes right then and there. 

“Just an observation,” Hilda says, all flushed and pretty as she circles her hips, pushing against his hand between her legs. 

“Well.” Claude’s hips push up to give her what she wants, thumb rubbing her clit in time with her movements. “I _am_ the king. They argue with me enough around here, I should get one or two perks.” 

Hilda laughs -- it’s her lusty, throaty one that drives Claude wild and makes him want to fuck her, give her things and pet her pretty hair all at the same time. “Mm, yeah you are -- how about you fuck me like a king, then?” 

That’s Hilda-speak for _I am tired of doing all the work_ , meant to appeal to his ego...and it works, of course, it always does. “As my queen demands,” he intones, moving his hand from between her legs to grab her hips and flip her over. She makes a cute squeaking sound and beams up at him, so he leans down to kiss her because honestly, how could he not? 

Hilda is flexible and likes to show off, so she wriggles a bit beneath him to get her legs on his shoulders and puts her own hand between her legs, rubbing herself while Claude does, in fact, fuck her like a king...one who knows just how rough his lady likes it, and how to go hard and fast when she’s close. She comes with a moan, making his eyes cross with how good it feels when she tightens deliciously around him. 

He could definitely come like this, and immediately, but she removes her legs from his shoulders and shoves at him a little. “I want it on my hands and knees now, okay? It feels so good like that, baby.” 

Claude pulls out and gets her turned around, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder before pushing her back down again. “Want it a little dirty, is that it?” 

“You got it.” She settles on her hands and knees and he runs a hand over her back, her ass, then settles on her hips so he can pull her back on his cock. They both moan, and Claude settles into the sort of hard rhythm he knows she wants while she makes these hot little noises halfway between a moan and a gasp. 

It takes her a little longer to come this way, which means a few times Claude has to think about something unsexy because he doesn’t want to come _or_ slow down, but it’s totally worth it when she does. She shakes and cries out and goes so tight around him it makes him come mere seconds later, keeping her pulled back against him while he fucks them both through it. 

“Mmm,” she says, stretching out on her stomach and turning her head to smile at him. “That was great, thanks.” 

“Always, sweetheart.” He sits back on his heels, pulling his shirt away from his own sweat-slick skin. The next time he fucks someone he is taking his clothes off, geez. “Everything okay?” Sometimes she wants him to fuck her like that if she’s frustrated. Sometimes she’s just into it. He likes to check. 

Her mentioning his getting laid a lot recently would maybe make him worry he wasn’t giving her enough attention, but if she felt annoyed she would _not_ have climbed into his lap and let him take her top off without some serious groveling. 

“Sure. Sometimes a girl just wants to get railed.” 

Fair enough. “I mean, sometimes a guy does, too,” Claude says, grinning as he gets up to tidy himself. “You gonna get out that toy you use with Marianne sometimes and return the favor for me?” 

“Uh, not right _now_. But maybe later. And you know, you could have Felix rail you, he’s got the equipment already attached! Then I could watch, ‘cause fucking someone is murder on my quads. Everyone wins!” 

Claude is aware it’s murder on the quads, his own are burning a little. He finishes fixing his clothes and has to laugh at Hilda, still naked and sprawled out on the bed. “Need something? Water? A nap? Marianne?”

“Mmm. Water, and Mari will be back soon, she went to check on the little foal, Blueberry? You know how she gets about animals.” 

Claude does indeed know that. The cats in the royal palace figured out pretty quickly that Marianne was the one to look at with their big, cute crossed blue eyes to earn a snack or a cuddle. They were a little more high maintenance than the ones from the monastery, but cats were cats and never above being spoiled. 

He gets Hilda her water and tosses her one of his old shirts, which she shrugs into and kind of buttons, her pigtails askew as she sits cross-legged on the bed and thirstily gulps the water. “You know, you never did answer my question about what color leather you want.” 

Claude sighs. “I told you that there’s no point in making Felix a collar, we haven’t even talked about it. Didn’t you know Marianne for _years_ before you collared her?” 

“Yeah, but I knew I wanted to, like, the first time I was bossy and she did what I wanted and instead of being smug about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about petting her hair.” Hilda shrugs. “You like him, right? He’s…I mean, not really very likeable, but honestly, I think that might be your type. People didn’t always like me, either.” 

That was definitely true, but Hilda’s grown up a lot since they met. They all have. War tends to do that. “I always liked you.” 

“Really? Why? Because I never bought your bullshit?” 

“Yup,” Claude says, laughing. “I appreciate that and you know it.” 

“Good. I’m glad there’s something, since, you know I’m not...like, romantic or whatever.” 

“You made a charm for my wyvern,” says Claude, smiling at her. “You’re learning Almyran, and you told your racist uncle to shut up at our engagement party, when he asked if I would be hogtying you to my wyvern to bring you back here.” 

“He’s such a _dick_ , ugh.” 

“And you’re loyal and you trust me and you came here willing to unlearn all the stupid things they taught you, growing up on the border. Honestly, you’re like, the _soul_ of romance.” 

Hilda peers at him. “Do you mean that?” 

She sounds so suspicious. Claude laughs and holds his hands up. “Of course. I grew up and knew my whole life was going to be a fight, Hilda. Whether it was here, or in Fodlan, I knew I didn’t really belong. I spent so long hiding everything about myself that I sometimes wasn’t even sure _I_ knew who I was, anymore. I had to be sneaky to survive. I feel like you get that, and are honestly kinda into it.” 

Hilda giggles. “Probably. I like sneaky, I can’t lie. But no one knows themselves when they’re eighteen. The reason we all act like assholes at that age is because we think we do, but we don’t.” 

He and Hilda didn’t grow up that far away from each other, geographically speaking, but their experiences were as vastly different as you could have; she was the pampered and adored youngest child and only daughter of House Goneril, and Claude was the half-Fodlan, half-Almyran crown prince whose father dragged him behind his horse to teach him a lesson -- more than once -- and whose mother who watched that happen and _laughed_. Right before she beat Nader up in the training ring. 

Then again, Hilda isn’t wrong; they _are_ different people now than they’d been at eighteen. Maybe it didn’t matter so much that they’d been hiding behind such different masks, or for such different reasons. All that mattered was they’d both been hiding. 

“Plenty of people still think I’m an asshole,” Claude reminds her. 

She shrugs. “Sometimes you are. Sometimes _I_ am. That’s just what the world does when you live in it.” She pats the bed next to her. “You’re still not answering the question, Khalid.” 

“Oh, real name,” he teases, as he takes a seat next to her. “I answered the question. If I do collar Felix, I want to put him in something ridiculously fancy and soft. Black velvet.” 

“Ooh, with, like, a dangling diamond? Like a cat collar!” Hilda squeaks and claps her hands. “That’s adorable, he’ll _hate_ it, I love it.” 

Claude smiles. “I was kinda partial to the idea, myself.” 

“So, you’ve thought about it,” she says, bumping him with her shoulder. “And here you were trying to act like you hadn’t. Don’t lie to me, I know all your secrets. _And_ I exchange weekly letters with your _mom_ , so if you try it, I’ll get you in trouble.” 

It would work, too. Claude’s mom _loves_ Hilda. “I guess I should tell them we have another Fodlan noble living here. Former noble.” He glances at Hilda. “Speaking of not lying, were you asking me if I was going to collar him because you really want to know if I’m keeping him?” 

“I already know you’re keeping him, hello. And, like, don’t take this the wrong way? But you have _really_ needed a submissive. Like, one that makes you work for it. It’s not just me that thinks that, either.” 

“Is that so? Who’s been telling you I need a sub? Nader?” 

“Well, yeah, he told me that in person. But no, I’ve heard other people saying it -- in Almyran, so I guess they thought I didn’t know what they were talking about.” Hilda’s understanding of the Almyran language is better than her attempts at speaking it. “But you did need one. Mari’s happy to do the service stuff, but you need something else and Felix gives it to you.” 

“A prickly, pretty Faerghan swordsman who fights himself more than anyone I’ve ever seen, and that includes five years of being in a war?” 

“Yup,” says Hilda. “You like a challenge, don’t lie.” 

“I do, but you know, I have a lot of them,” Claude says, dryly. 

“Sure, and that’s why you need Felix. He’s a challenge, he fights, and you win. It’s good for your dom-brain, or whatever.” 

Claude smiles and ruffles her hair. “Is it.” 

She ducks and swats at his hand, which is silly because he’s in no way messed her hair up more than it already was. “Yeah. I think he’s good for you, even if you’re definitely better than he probably deserves.” 

“Hilda,” he laughs. “That’s mean.” 

“I can’t help it if the truth hurts.” She leans against him and yawns. “And you have feelings for him, I can tell.” 

Claude puts an arm around her. “I do, yeah. They’re dirty ones. Fucking him on a banquet table. Holding his head under the water while he sucks me off in the bath.” 

“That’s -- hot, actually, but it’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

Of course he knows. She’s right, he does have feelings for Felix but it’s hard to fully suss out what kind they are. Claude’s never had a regular submissive before, so it’s possible that a lot of the intensity he’s experiencing at the moment is just the adrenaline and endorphins and whatever the biology is that makes any of this work. “How did you know you loved Marianne? And not just...had intense domme feelings for her, or whatever.” 

“Well, I did have those feelings, and it’s part of it? I mean. Claude, you know me. My favorite way of doing things is delegating and then offering praise. It’s great! Talking is easy, I can always figure out the nice thing someone wants to hear and it takes me, like, no time or effort at all.” Hilda yawns and rubs her face against his shoulder like a cat. “But for her? I wanted to put in the _work_. I hated that she thought she was worthless. I wanted her to really believe me that she’s -- she’s wonderful, and worth so much and that I actually appreciated everything she did for me.” 

“Aw, Hilda,” Claude says, laughing softly, hugging her tight. “That’s so sappy, I’m going to throw up in my mouth.” 

“Oh shut _up_ , wanna hear how I knew I was in love with _you_? It’s when I realized that while everyone else was always like, nooo, Hilda’s not ‘lazy’ she’s just afraid of disappointing people, blah, blah...you were like, ‘yeah, and sometimes she’s just lazy’ and you still liked me. Like, okay, yeah, some of it was the whole disappointment thing and also who wasn’t afraid, being sent to take out bandits when you’re eighteen and just want to go to dances and dress up? But you saw all the parts of me and some of them weren’t that great, and you still liked me. Trusted me. Kept me safe.” She sniffs. “And you’re so hot, too. I would have married you even if you weren’t a king _or_ a dom.” 

“I’m that hot, really?” He smiles, more than a little touched by her words. 

“No, that’s -- those two things aren’t related. I mean, they are, obviously it’s nice you’re smoking hot because, ugh, I can’t have ugly kids.” 

“Hilda,” he laughs, shaking his head. “You’re awful.” 

She pushes away from him and says, “I know! That’s my point! I am awful, sometimes. You like me anyway.” 

“So you fell in love with Marianne because you wanted to make her change how she felt about herself, and with me because I liked you in all your terrible, selfish and sometimes lazy glory?” Claude laughs. “Wow.” 

“I fell in love with you because you -- you got me,” she says, her face serious in a way he’s not seen in a long time. “I guess maybe it’s the same. You made me feel like I was worth something, even though I know how I am.” 

“You’re perfect,” he tells her, taking her hand in his. “And I thought that thing you said about figuring out what people want to hear and using it like a weapon was _really_ attractive.” 

“Of course you did,” she says, squeezing his hand back. “I guess you just sort of...made me want to be a better person, but not because you didn’t like the person I was, because then I would have refused to do it just on principle.” 

“I get that,” Claude says, and brings her hand up to kiss it. His face feels hot. “Thanks. That was nice of you to say. I love _you_ because you’ve got a great rack and --” he laughs outright as she snatches her hand away and socks him in the stomach. “And because you don’t pull your punches when I deserve it,” he wheezes. 

Hilda examines her nails. “Damn right.” She glances up at him, kisses him while he’s still a little breathless, and heads toward the bathing suite. 

She’s given him a lot to think about. Claude has a lot to do, a million things on his plate, and _figuring out Felix_ isn’t the most important but it _is_ important. Felix is important. 

Speaking of, Claude thinks it might be time he takes Felix outside for a bit -- he’s not a prisoner here, and if he’s going to stick around, it might be time to start introducing Felix to Almyra. Not just the palace and the training hall, but the country where -- if Claude has his way -- he’ll want to stay. 

Making Felix want to stay, to ask for his collar, means earning Felix’s trust. The story of what went wrong with Dimitri Blaiddyd, the last doomed king of Faerghus. To earn Felix’s trust, to make him feel safe...Claude knows what this means. He’s going to have to open up a bit himself. Prove to Felix that Claude is worthy of submitting to, of putting his collar around Felix’s neck. 

He’ll have to come up with a plan, but for now...there’s one thing he can do right off the bat to get this whole thing underway. 

He can tell Felix his real name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Claude takes Felix on a tour.


	11. oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claude tells Felix his name, takes him swimming, and reaps the benefit of some hard-earned trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever to Mxticketyboo for the beta!

“It’s so bright out here.” Felix puts his hand up, shielding his eyes from the harsh midday sun as they make their way out of the palace. “Is it always like this?” 

“Well, no.” Claude waits, then adds cheerfully, “It’s a lot less sunny at night.” 

Felix gives him the most unimpressed look in the history of unimpressed looks. “Right. Except then.” 

Claude grins, but Felix just sort of keeps staring at him. He’s dressed in clothes suitable for riding, though the style is more in keeping with Fodlan than Almyra. Felix would look amazing in a pair of riding leathers like Claude’s wearing, though. 

One thing at a time. 

The grounds of the royal palace are quiet as they make their way to the wyvern eyrie. Claude shows Felix the gardens and the rare plants, which do not seem to make much of an impression but then again, Felix seems to be in a mood and Claude hasn’t figured out what it is, yet. 

He seems more interested in the fountains in the gardens, immediately shoving his hand in it -- though says, as if offended, “Even the _water_ is hot.” 

“Do you know how the sun works?” Claude asks, concerned. “And like. Water?” He makes a vague waving notion. “It’s science.” 

“I’m from Faerghus,” Felix huffs. “All I know about water is that it turns into snow, and the sun melts it. Maybe. If you’re lucky.” 

“Being overheatedmakes you cranky,” Claude tells him. Felix does not dignify this with a response. He’s staring down at the water, either lost in thought or really just not into the heat. “You’ll get used to it, but you could take your shirt off.” 

“What?” Felix looks sharply at him, bright gold eyes narrowed. “I can’t walk around without a shirt.” 

“You have on an undershirt, don’t you?” Claude asks. “You could just wear that.” 

Felix looks like he can’t decide if Claude is joking or not, but he shakes his head and stands up, wiping his wet hand on his trousers. “It’s fine.” He looks around, arms crossed over his chest. 

_Mr. Scowly Face_ , Hilda called him. But Claude is beginning to learn that Felix just looks like that. He even sleeps intensely. It’s sort of just how he is. 

“What is it?” Felix asks. 

Claude gives a shake of his head. “Nothing. C’mon, let’s go. I had Altaira saddled and everything. So you won’t fall off.” 

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” Felix follows him out of the gardens, toward the eyrie. “I haven’t ridden a wyvern since we were in school. I’m probably going to die.” 

Claude laughs, startled by the deadpan way Felix delivered that pronouncement. He grins over at him. “Can I ask you something and you’ll answer me honestly?” 

“That’s literally the only way I ever answer anything,” says Felix. 

Claude isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but he lets it go. “Are you in a bad mood right now? Is something bothering you?” 

“That’s two questions, Claude.” 

Honestly, what had he expected? “I wasn’t aware I had a limit.” 

“Hmmph.” Felix is quiet for a moment, and then in classic Felix fashion, all he says is, “Yeah.” 

He really is something. Claude fights the urge to make him kneel right there on the footpath, just because he could. “So...what’s bothering you? Besides the fact it’s hot, obviously.” 

Felix is quiet for a few long seconds. “The same thing that’s always bothering me.” He waves a hand. “Being me.” 

Claude thinks about his conversation with Hilda, how she’d talked about wanting so badly for Marianne to realize she wasn’t worthless, that she deserved all the love and sweetness Hilda wanted to give her. “I like you.” 

Felix stops, and stares at him. “Yeah, I know you do. And I don’t get that, either, so that’s also bothering me.” 

Claude smiles at him. Then he steps in, takes him by the back of the neck and pulls him in to kiss him. It’s not a quick or chaste kiss, either, and he ignores the wolf-whistle from someone nearby, and someone shouting, in Almyran, _get it, King Khalid_.

Felix is wide-eyed and flushed when Claude pulls back. His eyes are so pretty in the sun. “I really don’t understand you.” 

“A little mystery never hurt anyone,” Claude says, which is...well, one could make the argument that that’s very wrong, but whatever, it’s a nice day and he’s not here for a moral debate. “But I might be able to help you out with that.” 

Felix actually sighs, like that’s going to involve him writing an essay or doing a report for the professor, or weeding the garden. But as they walk, something eases in his shoulders, and his disposition seems less...well. Scowly. 

Does he like it when Claude asks him what’s wrong? Is it really that simple? “You asked me about my name, remember? When you first got here.” 

Felix glances over at him and nods. “I remember.” 

“Well, you’ve probably heard it about a thousand times and just didn’t realize it,” he says, as they find the path that leads to the eyrie. Claude catches a scent of hay on the air and smiles in pleasure; he’s always loved coming here, even as a child when it was a place he ran to to hide. “A guy just shouted it at me when I kissed you, because apparently I employ a lot of guards with no respect for their king.” 

Felix’s face gets warm, but he says gruffly, “You did kiss me in front of them.” 

Claude shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I did. Anyway, it’s Khalid.” 

Felix blinks. “Wait -- what?” 

“My name,” Claude says, amused. “It’s Khalid.” 

“Huh.” Felix is still staring at him. “I don’t know why but it’s freaking me out that you just told me and didn’t make me do something to earn it.” 

“You already did,” says Claude. 

Felix looks surprised, but then -- he smiles. It’s small and quick and gone in a flash, but Claude sees it anyway. “Should I call you that, then?” 

“Do you want to?” Claude asks, honestly curious. “Hilda does sometimes, and I told Marianne she could but she usually still calls me Claude, then apologizes, then calls me _your majesty_ because I think it stresses her out less than having to choose one.” He shakes his head. “But I don’t care, I’m used to being called either at this point.” 

“Is von Riegan really your name, too?” Felix asks. 

For half a second, Claude is back in Garreg Mach and saying, for the thousandth time, _yes, I really am the heir to House Riegan, I have the crest, don’t I?_ He pushes the memory aside; Felix is just curious, and it _is_ a valid question, especially for someone who has no idea how naming conventions work in Almyra. 

“It is, yeah. Almyrans don’t have surnames,” he explains. “But my mom’s from Fodlan, and she really is Duke Riegan’s daughter. Part of my being declared the heir was under the stipulation that I use my mother’s last name, and she _did_ give me the name Claude. There was some other Claude von Riegan in her family, so I guess she thought it might help me out in Fodlan.” 

“Oh.” Felix is quiet as they approach the eyrie. “I bet that was hard. Learning to respond to a whole different name.” 

“A little, yeah. The worst was, I knew the Fodlan language because my mom spoke it to me all the time -- that’s why I don’t have an accent -- but I used to think, and dream, in Almyran. Being surrounded by so many people speaking the Fodlan language helped me out with the first one, but it took me _forever_ to stop dreaming in Almyran.” 

“I never would have thought about that,” Felix says, as they round the corner. “About thinking and dreaming in another language.” He studies Claude, and then he smiles. “You’re more interesting when you’re not trying to be like -- someone who doesn’t care? Or whatever you call that when you smile and joke around but don’t mean it.” 

Claude clears his throat. “The word you’re looking for would be _lying_.” 

“I don’t know if it is.” Felix glances down at the ground. “I mean. There’s -- you had your reasons.” 

“Sure.” Those reasons seem far away, now -- at the time, Claude thought the only way to get the peace he wanted was to take over the Alliance and make friends with the other two monarchs, so that he could charm them into wanting peace when he finally admitted he was actually a future _king_ , not a duke. 

But then Edelgard and her war happened, and not even Claude saw that one coming. 

“Do you go back to thinking and dreaming in Almyran?” Felix asks. “Since you’ve been back here.” 

“Oh. Dreaming, definitely, yeah, that came back right away. Thinking in Almyran, that depends on where I’m at, usually. Meetings with the council, obviously, yeah, I do. But as far as just thinking when I’m alone?” Claude flashes a grin at him. “Some might say I don’t think at all.” 

“No one who knows you for five minutes would say that, Claude,” says Felix. He pauses. “Khalid.” 

Claude is surprised by how much he likes the sound of it in Felix’s voice, even though he says it like a Fodlan noble instead of an Almyran; clipped and a little too sharp, but it’s still nice to hear. Nicer than he thought, even if he’s really not bothered if Felix wants to keep calling him Claude. 

“Your Majesty.” 

Turning, Claude sees the wyvern-master approaching, smiles, and says, “Hello, Mahdi. Felix, this is Mahdi. He’s been the wyvern-master here since my father was a boy.” He switches to Almyran. “This is Felix, from Fraldarius.” 

His father once told Claude that Mahdi _was_ part wyvern, and Claude believed him until he was almost nine. It was his eyes; Mahdi has eyes that are so bright gold they’re almost yellow. Just like a wyvern. 

Mahdi nods, peering at Felix. “Can he ride a wyvern?” He sounds suspicious. 

“He has before,” Claude says. “But he isn’t very good at it.” 

Felix narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. As if he knows exactly what Claude just said, even if he can’t speak the language. 

“Fodlanders. They try to ride wyverns like they ride their horses,” Madhi says, with a disdainful sniff. 

“I don’t think he’s very good at that, either,” says Claude, grinning slyly at Felix. 

“Well. For your sake, King Khalid, I hope he learns how to ride an Almyran mount properly.” Madhi says this without a single change of expression, except for a sly wink. 

Claude laughs in delight and says to Felix, “I told him you were a terrible rider, and he says he hopes for you learn, for my sake.” 

Felix’s face is red, but it could just be the sun -- he’s so fair, it probably won’t take long for him to burn. “I know how to ride a wyvern. And I can ride a horse. And I think I proved last night I can also ride _you_.” No, that’s not the sun, that’s definitely him flushing. Felix is standing in that pose he does when he’s feeling all puffed up; one hand on his hip, his nose in the air, all pointy and ridiculous. 

It’s cute. Claude says to Mahdi, “He’s not bad at riding certain Almyrans.” 

“You are part Fodlan,” Mahdi reminds him. “Maybe that’s why he’s good at it.” 

Claude laughs again. “Is Altaira ready to go?” He pulls out the small charm Hilda gave him. “The queen made this for her.” 

“Hmph. Jewelry on a wyvern. If you were going to marry a Fodlander, why not the blue-haired one? The wyverns love her.” He pitches his voice low, even though Felix won’t know what they’re talking about. “She speaks to them, King Khalid. The wyverns. I don’t know how, but she does. She speaks to them, and they speak _back_.” He sounds very approving. 

Claude smiles. Marianne has made friends with every animal in Almyra and all the humans who take care of them. The gardener calls her a name in Almyran that translates to _bird singer_. Marianne was delighted when Claude told her that. 

“She does. Part of her Fodlan magic, I think.” He wonders if it is bothering Felix that he doesn’t know what they’re saying, and makes a note to ask if Felix wants to learn some Almyran. 

Altaira, his wyvern, is kept in the nicest stable not because he’s the king, but because in the wyvern dominance hierarchy she is the undisputed queen and _very_ territorial. She’s gotten in fights with male wyverns when they try to share space, and Claude likes to imagine it’s because the boy wyverns said something dumb and Altaira was just trying to make them behave and show some respect. 

Mahdi gives Claude the same lecturers he’s been giving Claude about riding a wyvern since Claude was a child, regardless of the fact he’s a king now who’s been blooded in war. He listens politely, because Claude might be king but this guy is the wyvern master, and Mahdi makes him promise three times to tell Felix all this information before he’ll leave Claude alone with his _own wyvern_.

Claude shakes his head fondly, then affixes Altaira’s new charm to the left tassel on the shaffron, and swings up on the saddle. Altaira had already caught his scent the second Claude was near her, so other than a bite to show her disapproval at his not having been to see her for a bit, she settles fairly quickly after he gives her a few pats and assures her she’s the prettiest, best wyvern that ever lived. 

“Come along, Felix,” he says. “Approach carefully, hand out, like a horse.” 

“Didn’t you tell me this wyvern throws you off in battle just to see what you’ll do?” Felix asks, suspicious. 

“Yeah, but look.” He pulls up the rider’s harness clipped to the saddle. “I have this for you. And I’m here! It’ll be great.” Altaira rustles her wings and chirps, swinging her giant head up to give Claude a huff as if to say _why aren’t we in the air, yet?_

Felix sighs and walks over, hand out, posture easy -- Claude was teasing about Felix being bad at riding, but he was clearly knowledgeable about how to approach a strange animal. “Be nice,” Claude says to Altaira, in Almyran. 

Her ears twitch and she huffs but she’s a war wyvern, Claude has hauled people up onto her back in the middle of dodging magefire and arrows to save them or bring them to the healers. Felix approaching with a modicum of sense is fine, and while it’s clear he hasn’t done this in a while he still knows the basics. He settles in front of Claude, only looking a little awkward about it. 

Claude affixes the riding strap around Felix’s waist and clips it, then gives Altaira another pat and uses the verbal command to get her to move. She bounds out of the corral, already starting to trot and rustling her great white wings. 

“Ready?” Claude asks, as she picks up speed. 

“Do I have a choice?” 

Claude grins and in lieu of an answer he whistles sharply -- Altaira chirps back and her wings spread, and the ground falls away as the wyvern lifts into the air. 

“Ugh, fuck, why do you _like_ this,” Felix growls, going tense. 

“Because it’s part of my culture, it runs in my blood, it’s amazing and -- look --” Claude says, resting his chin on Felix’s shoulder. “Open your eyes, Felix, come on. You asked me why I like it, I’m trying to show you.” 

“I -- all right.” Felix turns his head slightly, and the air whips his braid around a bit as he looks down. “Oh.” 

Almyra stretches out beneath them, the royal palace grounds disappearing as Claude nudges Altaira toward a small oasis to the north. There’s a nice copse of trees around a shimmering blue pool of nice, _cold_ water, and Claude has a feeling Felix will enjoy both the swim and some shade. 

Except, first -- Claude grins, then slides an arm around Felix’s middle and says, “Remember you’re strapped in and I’m not going to drop you.” 

“No,” says Felix, immediately. “Claude --” 

Claude laughs, whistles a command, and Altaira flares her wings and tilts -- and keeps tilting into a roll. Felix shouts, and Claude does it again, and then again. When Altaira rights herself, Felix turns and punches him on the arm. 

“You _asshole_ , don’t _do_ that,” Felix hisses. 

Claude laughs loudly. “Don’t tempt me, or I’ll fly upside down the rest of the way.” 

“I hate you,” Felix says, and Claude can see his fingers shaking a bit as they wind tight around the pommel. 

“I said I wasn’t going to let you fall. Wasn’t that exciting?” Claude nudges the wyvern and whistles; she begins to descend slowly, and he draws Felix back against his chest, grinning. 

“No, no it was not.” Felix is nothing but tense muscles and a scowl as Claude eases Altaira into a sedate and -- for him -- very boring landing. 

“For someone who throws themselves headlong into battle with a sword, I’m surprised at you,” Claude says, once Altaira has rolled around on the ground and examined the trees and grass of the oasis and is now drinking like a puppy from the clear, cool pool of water. 

Felix looks so strange amidst the landscape in his Fodlan clothes, the sun and wind from the short flight tinting his skin pink. Claude smiles. “Take your clothes off.” 

“What?” Felix’s eyes narrow immediately. “Why?” 

Claude strolls over and grabs his braid, which is already coming loose, Felix has the _most ridiculous hair_ , it really is as contrary as he is. “Remember how I don’t like it when I have to tell you to do something twice?” 

“I remember,” says Felix, glancing around. “We’re outside.” 

“There’s a pool of water,” says Claude. He points. “See? It’s very cold. It’s why I brought you here. Don’t they go skinny dipping in Faerghus?” 

“Am I alive right now? Of course not. Do you know how cold it is?” Felix isn’t looking at him. 

“You do know how to swim, right? I mean, you haven’t drowned in the baths, yet. And it’s not always that cold is it?” Claude shudders at the mere thought. “Isn’t Fraldarius by the sea?” 

“Yes, but it’s too rocky to swim, and you’d never want to do it naked.” 

“Is anything nice in Faerghus?” Claude asks. “Literally anything?” 

“Nope.” Felix glances at him, then reaches up and starts undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

While he does that, Claude gets the saddle bag from the wyvern and takes out a woven blanket, which he puts on the grass. He sits on the blanket to take off his boots, smiling at the feel of the cool grass on his bare feet. 

“Is all of Almyra like this?” Felix asks, sitting next to him and unlacing his own tall boots. “A desert, I mean.” 

“Nope. It’s pretty varied. Like a whole country,” Claude teases, standing up to take off his pants. “You know, how there’s all kinds of places in Fodlan?” 

“Yeah, but Almyra’s smaller so I didn’t know...stop, you’re laughing at me.” Remarkably, even though that is true, Felix doesn’t look all that cranky about it. A shocking development, but maybe getting him off the wyvern, out of his clothes, and soon into cold water is all it takes. 

Claude ties his hair back with a scarf and waits patiently for Felix to take his pants off. 

For all he huffed about it, Felix doesn’t seem at all that shy about being naked outside. He shouldn’t be -- he’s gorgeous, and since he seems to enjoy the food here he’s filled out a bit from when he first showed up, softening some of those impossibly sharp angles of his even though he still trains religiously. 

Claude wades into the water, shivering a bit from how cold it is and turning to watch Felix. Felix takes a few steps into the pool, makes the same noise he sometimes makes in bed and throws himself in the water. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever done in Claude’s presence. Claude is _delighted_. 

“You know you can use the cold pool in the bathing room in my suite, right?” Claude asks, amused, as Felix floats in utter contentment. 

“It’s not the same,” Felix says, up to the bright blue sky. “It’s the being outside part.” 

Well, as long as he’s happy. Claude dives down into the pool, the deepest -- and coldest -- part in the middle, enjoying the weightlessness of swimming almost as much as he does flying on the wyvern. When he surfaces, Felix is treading water next to him. He’s definitely getting a sunburn, but he’s _smiling_. “See, worth the wyvern ride, right?” 

“The wyvern ride, sure. The flipping upside down...maybe.” Felix, for all he’d just talked about Fraldarius and Faerghus being horrible places to swim, seems at home in the water. 

Probably you had to learn how to swim if you lived by the sea, as a manner of safety if not recreation. In fact, Claude would bet all the gold in Almyra that was the case. They never seemed to do anything just for fun in Faerghus.

There’s a small outcropping of rocks near the edge, and Claude swims over to perch on it and enjoy the simple pleasure of being outside. He’s spent the last few days in council meetings, mediating a border dispute and setting in motion a diplomatic visit to Enbarr to try and finally get the peace treaty off the ground. 

He’s surprised when Felix swims over to join him, and actually says, “Thank you, this is nice.” 

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. I brought some snacks if you’re hungry.” 

Felix just shakes his head, but he squints. “It’s so sunny. We had two, maybe three days like this in Faerghus. Not in Fraldarius, really, because...something about the sea, the sky never stayed this clear. But when I was younger and we’d visit Fhirdiad in the summer. That’s when I’d go swimming. With Sylvain, Ingrid, my brother, and - Dimitri.” He only hesitates a little saying the name. 

This is a long speech for Felix, and it’s also information he’s just offering up about his childhood and his friends...including Dimitri. If Felix has said his name with any sort of fondness, Claude can’t recall when it might have been. 

Felix is giving him something, Claude realizes. A piece of himself. Trust. He feels something warm settle in his chest, thrumming with the beat of his heart. “I used to come here with my parents, sometimes. It was my mom that taught me how to swim, actually. She spent most of her time when she was growing up in Derdriu.” 

“How did she meet your father?” Felix asks, blinking water out of his face.

“According to my mom, they used to have this contest every year for archery near Fodlan’s Locket. Up near where Hilda’s from, actually. And she snuck out of the house in a disguise, made her way there, and ended up winning the whole thing. The person she beat in the finals was my father. He’d never lost before.” 

Felix blinks. “So he wanted to marry her because she won?” 

“Well,” Claude laughs. “I forget you haven’t met my parents. My father doesn’t like to lose, but he respects a warrior so he marched over and half-yelled, half-flirted in Almyran, she _just_ yelled back in Fodlan, and two days later she left on the back of his wyvern and they eloped. Everyone thought she was probably, uh, _in a family way_ and that’s why she did it, but nope, they were married almost two years before I came along.” 

“You like them,” Felix says. “Your parents.” 

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part. They’ve mellowed a little since I was kid.” Not much, but no one’s dragged him behind a horse lately, so. 

They’re quiet for a moment, and then, to Claude’s utter shock, Felix moves closer in the water and says, “Can I touch you?” 

Claude’s so surprised he nearly drowns, but he realizes this is what one might call _a significant moment_ and says, “Of course.” 

Felix moves closer. He reaches out and puts a hand on Claude’s shoulder, then draws it down his chest. “You’ve been good to me. Since I came here.” 

“I’m glad you think so,” Claude says. Something, a fish probably, splashes behind Felix. He hopes it’s not a snake. Nature cannot ruin this moment, when Felix is both talking and touching Claude. 

“I don’t want to leave,” says Felix. He glances at him for a moment, eyes serious. “But I don’t know if you should let me stay.” 

That’s not what Claude expects to hear at all. He reaches out and gently puts a hand on Felix’s narrow waist, drawing him closer through the water. “You can come closer. I said you can touch me, and I meant it.” 

Felix glides through the water, his firm, wet body pressed up against Claude’s. He looks as serious as he ever does. “I’m a traitor. I committed treason against the crown. I wasn’t a political prisoner in Enbarr. I went there for asylum.” 

Claude had honestly expected as much. He nods. This feels so fragile, this moment, he’s almost afraid to speak because he doesn’t want to end it. Claude’s done nothing to put him under, and he wants Felix to talk to him without having to do it. 

“I was going to transfer houses. I had the paperwork filled out, Seteth signed it, so did Professor Byleth.” Felix slides his hands up Claude’s chest. He looks oddly faraway, and still won’t look at Claude, but touching him seems to be grounding. “I was supposed to show up on Monday morning in the Black Eagles classroom, but do you know what happened that weekend?” 

Claude shakes his head, his other hand carefully -- so carefully -- going to rest at Felix’s waist. Actually, he’s pretty sure he does know, but he stays quiet -- it seems important for Felix to tell him. 

Felix does look at him, then. A brief touch of those bright amber eyes, before he glances back down at the water. His hands slide over the slick skin of Claude’s shoulders, around to his back. “The Holy Tomb. Edelgard declared war, and took her Black Eagles with her. I went home to Faerghus.” Felix shakes his head. “If I had just -- one week earlier, and it all might have been different.” 

Claude, of course, has a thousand questions; but instead of asking any of the immediate ones, he says softly, “That doesn’t make you a traitor. Lysithea transferred to the Black Eagles. It happens.” 

“That’s not why I’m a traitor,” Felix says. “But I can’t -- “ he shakes his head. “I just wanted you to know. I told Edelgard, when I surrendered Fraldarius to her. Showed her my transfer papers. I knew I couldn’t stay in Faerghus, or whatever it’s called, now. So she let me go with her. And on the trip to Enbarr, I thought about if I would have left with her, that night.” 

Claude’s _fascinated_ by this story, and he’s afraid to say anything or ask questions for fear Felix will sink under the water and drown himself to avoid telling him the rest of it. They are getting closer to the story Claude knows Felix will have to tell him, before he asks for Claude’s collar. Before Claude feels like he can even give it. But this is -- improvement. It’s trust.

“I didn’t lie, when I told you why I left Enbarr. Edelgard didn’t know what to do with me. She tried to give me a job in the Empire. Guard captain. I didn’t want it, because I didn’t earn it. I didn’t fight with my father or with -- with the Boar. But I fought against her troops in Fraldarius. I killed a lot of them.” His eyes flash. They remind Claude of the blacksmith’s fire, hot and meant to fashion something to kill. “I wouldn’t let any of them -- handle me. So she sent me here. She thought you might have use for me. As a soldier. We’re told Almyrans appreciate military skill.” 

“We do,” Claude says. “Thank you for telling me that.” 

Felix nods, gaze sliding away again like the last glimmer of a sunset. “I - can I. Ask you something?” 

Claude’s heart kicks up a few notches. He wonders if Felix is going to ask him for his collar, and what he’s going to say if he does. He nods, keeps his voice easy. “You can always ask me anything.” 

“Do you -- do you think she was right? Doing what she did.” 

“I think her motivation wasn’t wrong,” Claude says, carefully. “There’s a lot about Fodlan that needs to change. I had my own goals to try and do that, but I wasn’t...well, my preference wouldn’t have been five years of bloody war pitting classmates against each other, no. So her methods bothered me, but I had no love for the church, or a system of nobility that valued bloodline-dependent magic above all else. I’m impressed by her daring. I don’t know that we really learn anything, though, when we solve our problems by murdering each other.” He pauses. “Didn’t see the whole thing coming where the archbishop was a _dragon_ , though. Might have changed my own plans, if I’d known that.” 

“You wouldn’t have -- you would have still saved the people you cared about.” Felix’s eyes land back on his. They’re burning. Felix’s fingers are tight on the muscles of Claude’s shoulders. “You think you failed at Derdriu. You didn’t. I - all I wanted was. To do what you did. To save them. To save _him_. I always told him to stop living in the past, to let the dead go. I don’t want to end up like that. But I think maybe. Maybe I deserve it, because in the end I wasn’t a good enough soldier and I wasn’t -- I wasn’t a good enough. Submissive.” He chokes the word out. 

_I’m not good enough for you_. That’s what he’s saying, isn’t it? “You said it yourself. Stop living in the past. There’s a future here for you, if that’s what you want. I can’t make you forgive yourself, but I’m not here to put you on trial for doing what you felt you needed to do. Okay?” 

Felix nods, and then he moves in closer, wraps his arms around Claude, and...hugs him. 

It’s so unexpected, Claude doesn’t move for half a second. Then Claude draws him forward with a hand on the back of his neck, presses Felix’s face to his shoulder, and hugs him back. 

They stand like that in the cold spring water, the Almyran sun bright in an endless blue sky, Felix’s breath warm on Claude’s skin. Something blossoms in Claude’s chest, some feeling of inescapable tenderness, new and fragile like a flower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based on Crimson Flower, but if you want to read the Azure Moon version, it exists! It's part two (and three!) of this 'verse, and it's called [trade agreement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453305), with the sequel [international relations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565619) \-- both of which are written with the incomparable Ohmyfae!


	12. rooftop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix disobeys and is punished, and also finally breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: for non-sexualized nudity in public, spanking as punishment, Felix having a LOT of feelings. 
> 
> Thanks to MxTicketyboo and Ohmyfae for reading this over!

It’s a few weeks after their trip to the oasis when Felix decides he wants to tell Claude about Dimitri. 

It’s not a realization he wakes up with one morning. It’s mostly a slow, gradual thing in which he thinks about telling Claude about that night and the panic doesn’t hit him quite as badly as it used to. Claude had listened without judgment to Felix’s confession that he’d intended to transfer to the Black Eagle house. He didn’t think Felix was a traitor. He’d given Felix a hug. 

Felix could hardly remember the last person who’d hugged him. Annette, maybe? Possibly Mercedes, who’d always been kind to him. 

He’s thinking about it while he runs through forms in the sun-dappled training room, about what it means that he wants to tell Claude about Dimitri. Is it because the weight of it feels bad, the sort he doesn’t want hanging around his neck like some anchor, keeping him moored in old regrets and trauma? Or because he’ll never get Claude’s collar without dragging all that out into the open and presenting it, like a monastery cat offering the gift of a dead mouse? Does it matter why, when Felix wants to tell him all of it, the whole sordid story of his complete and utter failure? 

Felix pushes his bangs out of his face -- he’s always so sweaty, here, does it ever _not_ feel like the inside of a cooking pot over a fire? -- and levels the sword at the training dummy. He can hear something, a commotion and a rustle in the hallway that runs next to the training arena, but at this point he’s used to people coming and going so he doesn’t pay much attention. 

Felix leaps forward, twisting his wrist and arcing the blade of the scimitar backward. He’s still trying to master that move Claude used the first time they sparred, but the blade is unfamiliar and he’s not quite used to the weight of it, yet. 

A voice says something from the corner of the room, in Almyran. Felix turns slightly -- and then he almost drops the sword. 

The man standing in the arched doorway is tall, broad-shouldered, with wild dark curls and a full, neatly-trimmed beard. He’s wearing traditional Almyran clothes and his boots are muddy, and there’s something oddly familiar about the shape of his mouth, the tilt of his head. He speaks again, but Felix understands maybe half a dozen Almyran phrases at most and all of them are ones Claude says in bed, so he doesn’t think any of those are right. 

The man takes a step forward, gesturing to the sword. Felix feels a chill up the back of his neck, and he meets the man’s inky dark eyes for about two seconds before he hands it over like he can’t quite help himself. He takes an immediate step back, and realizes he’s just presented a weapon to an unknown man who is apparently so inherently dominant that he doesn’t need to speak the same _language_ as Felix to make him submit. 

The man takes the sword, studies it, and then -- he does something, moves so fast Felix can barely track him, and the sword arcs and then the training dummy pitches over in the dust. The burlap-sack head rolls and lands at Felix’s feet. 

Felix blinks. 

The man grins at him, and there’s something familiar in _that_ , too, the way the smile curves across his full mouth. He speaks again, but Felix manages a gruff, “I’m sorry, I don’t -- I don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Hmph,” the man says. “Khalid needs teaching of you. Swords. How to speak.” He steps closer. 

Felix, who has made it a point to never retreat or back down without a death-wound, takes a step back. He stumbles and realizes he’s just tripped on the training dummy’s recently decapitated head, and is horrified to feel himself go ass-over-teakettle and land hard on the ground. 

The man laughs. 

There’s another commotion in the hall. When Felix -- still on the ground -- looks up, it is to see Claude von Riegan - Khalid, the King of Almyra -- enter the room in aflat-out _run_ , breathing hard, his crown askew atop his dark curls and a flush on his face. Felix has never seen him look so disheveled while dressed, before.

Claude says something breathlessly in Almyran, and then, “Felix?” 

“Yeah,” says Felix, embarrassed, as he gets to his feet. “I, uh. Tripped.” 

The man laughs again, tossing the sword high so that it flips end-over-end, catching it with a flourish. Another move Felix remembers Claude doing, when they’d sparred that first time. 

Felix glances at the man, and then at Claude. There’s a dawning suspicion about who this must be, which is confirmed correct when Claude sighs loudly and says, “Felix Fraldarius, meet Malik, Conquerer of the Starry Skies, Scourge of the Landbound, former King of Almyra and...my father. Father, this is Felix, former Faerghan noble and warrior.” 

“Some warrior,” Malik says, in heavily-accented Fodlan. “Clumsy.” 

“I’ve seen that trick before,” Claude says, heading over toward them. “He did it in actual battle, with real people’s heads. Or so he told me as a kid.” He says something to his father in rapid Almyran, and his father answers. Felix can’t quite meet either of their gazes, but the urge to kneel is so strong it feels like someone’s hand is on the back of his neck. 

“Um,” says Felix. “I don’t -- what do I --” he doesn’t know the protocol for meeting a former king, and honestly, the natural dominance pouring off Malik in waves is enough to make Felix question the whole _former_ thing. This man -- Malik -- is still a king, even if he no longer claims the title. 

Luckily, Claude does what Felix both wants him to do and sort of contrarily _hates_ that he wants him to do, which is grab him by the back of the neck and squeeze enough that Felix, with a relieved little huff, falls immediately to his knees. It’s such a relief. 

“My parents are here for a few days, which I didn’t know until my mother waltzed in my bedroom and informed me that my father had gone seeking the recently-arrived Fodlander.” Claude pats him on the head. “I tried to find you before he did. He’s a lot.” 

“You come by it natural, then,” Felix says, to the ground. 

He hears a gravelly laugh and Malik says, “Yes, he does.” 

“Don’t let him fool you, he knows more Fodlan than he pretends,” says Claude. “He likes to try and get the upper-hand through trickery.” 

“Come by that honest, too,” says Felix. 

“Learned it from his mother,” says Malik. His deep voice resonates with good humor, so Felix dares a glance up. If he’s ever been around anyone with such effortless and natural dominance before, he can’t imagine when. Even his father, even _King Lamberthim_ , and Felix can feel his ears heat regardless of his inability to understand the actual gist of the conversation. 

“You teach him better, to use our swords,” Malik says to Claude. “He is better, with Fodlan blades? Not fall over so easy?” 

“He’s definitely better,” Claude says, laughter clear in his voice, and Felix prays idly to nothing that Claude doesn’t mention how he tricked Felix with that front-roll and knocked him on his back. “And he never goes down easy for anything.” 

Felix’s entire face heats, and Malik laughs and claps his son on the shoulder -- and then briefly lays a hand on Felix’s head. He says something that makes _Claude_ choke, and then says, in Fodlan, “He will meet your mother,” in a tone that even Claude will have to obey before tossing the scimitar to his son -- who catches it, thankfully, since if he doesn’t it will be _Felix’s_ head on the training ground -- and leaving them alone. 

“So, that’s my father,” says Claude, after a moment. “By the way, he said you were pretty and he could see why I wanted you on your knees. Also he won’t call you by your name, probably, it’s a thing we do here with submissives that belong to royalty.” 

Felix looks up at Claude. “I thought you didn’t collar people here.” 

“No, not usually, but we do _have_ submissives, obviously, we just don’t typically put actual collars on them. But you know how I said we don’t have surnames? We have the, the thing we add to someone’s name…I don’t know what you call that in Fodlan, maybe _epithets_? Like Nader the Undefeated, though I think that didn’t translate as well since he’s lost battles, he just doesn’t stop fighting them. _Unconquerable_ might be better. Or _Hot-Headed_.”

“What’s yours?” Felix asks. 

“Oh, I have a few. Growing up, some of them weren’t nice -- they were insults on my mixed-heritage, mostly, though I was fond of _Khalid the Wyvern Breaker_ , which was the nicest one. You end up with a lot of them by the time you’re my father’s age, so usually you default to one or two so council meetings don’t take six years for someone to read them all.” Claude snaps his fingers. “Sobriquet! That’s the word I want. Anyway, my father’s are mostly _Conquerer of the Starry-Skies_ or _Scourge of the Landbound_ \-- the, uh, actual word is kind of an insult to you Fodlanders -- but he’s got about twenty others.” 

Felix leans into the touch in his hair; Claude’s almost entirely unwound his braid at this point. “You didn’t say what yours was now, though.” 

Claude grins down at him. “Want to guess?” 

“ _Khalid the Infuriating? Khalid the Chatty? Khalid the Master Tactician?_?” Felix shakes his head. “I’m not very good at this kind of thing.” 

“You’re close! Mostly nowadays it’s _Khalid the Silver-Tongued_.” 

Felix laughs despite himself. “Accurate.” 

“You’d know,” Claude says, cheerfully. “ _Khalid the Wyvern Breaker_ , that one stuck around. But I’m trying to get _Khalid the Peacebringer_ in there. Maybe _Khalid the Great Unifier_. That has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” 

Felix nods. “Yeah. Khalid the Wyvern Breaker is a lot hotter, though.” 

“Felix! Was that a _joke_?” Claude gives a mock gasp. “I’m shocked. Anyway, my point is that submissives will sometimes just be called by their sobriquet. Marianne’s is the Almyran for _Bird-Singer_. And my father just gave you one, which means he’s accepted you even if you _did_ fall over.” 

“He _tricked_ me,” Felix huffs. 

“One of his sobriquets was _Malik the Underhanded_ ,” Claude says. 

“What’s mine, then?” Felix asks, cautiously. He’s not sure if he wants to know, even if something in him almost preens at the acceptance. He knows partly that it’s just his nature responding to a strong dominant’s approval, but Malik is a fearsome warrior and Felix won’t mind having earned a title -- 

“ _The Tipsy_ , since you fell over.” 

Then again, maybe he _will_ mind. 

Claude’s mouth twitches, and he tugs on Felix’s hair. “I’m kidding.” He says something in Almyran, slow enough for Felix to memorize it, then translates, “it means _fox-cub_. He thinks you’re pretty, easily spooked, need to learn how to use a scimitar better.” 

“I can fight him with a rapier if he wants to see my skill with a sword,” Felix snarls, which is stupid, since if Malik snapped his fingers Felix would probably just kneel despite himself. 

“If he thought you were hopeless, he’d have given you a different name. Or he’d just call you the equivalent of _boy_ , which you definitely don’t want.” 

Felix sighs. It could be worse. “I suppose I have no say in it.” 

“Nope.” Claude tugs his hair. “You can stand up. By the way, you’re probably one of the only submissives I’ve ever seen not drop to his knees immediately when my father just _looks_ at them. That you did it for me earned _me_ some king-points from Dad, so, thanks for that.” 

Felix gets to his feet, brushing at the dirt on his clothes. “Does Hilda have one?” The sobriquet thing is interesting, something that he never knew about Almyra -- though honestly, they’d never learned much about Almyra other than thinking of them as barbarians. Which, while Felix knows there are problems everywhere -- Claude being the victim of assassination attempts and being teased for his heritage are obvious ones -- he’s starting to appreciate a lot of what he’s learning about what is, he supposes, his new home. 

“Two. Queen Hilda, Wielder of the Silver Axe, and one that sort of translates as _Queen Hilda of the Rose-Quartz Eyes_. She says that one’s her favorite but I think she really likes the first one the most.” Claude shakes his head. “And my mother is _Queen Tiana of the Unbroken Bow_ , though she gets _Queen Tiana the Emerald-Eyed_ for...well, obvious reasons. You’ll probably get an _Amber-eyed_ tacked on to yours, come to think of it. They called Marianne _Cloud-eyes_ before they learned about her affinity with animals. Almyrans like Fodlander eyes, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“Poetic,” says Felix. 

“We do also like our poetry.” Claude draws him in and kisses him on the mouth. “Speaking of my mother, let’s introduce you. It’ll cause no amount of problems if I don’t, my parents are troublemakers of the first order.” 

“They did have you,” Felix agrees, and Claude punches him in the kidney, and Felix, forgetting for a second the weight he’s carrying, punches him _back_ so that they end up scuffling like children. Like he used to do, in lazy summer days in Faerghus with Sylvain and Ingrid and Dimitri, before the world turned their mock-fights into battles that they would all lose. 

Felix loses this one, too, ends up with Claude pushing him down and pinning his wrists and kissing him senseless -- before biting at his shoulder, hard enough for the sting to bring Felix back to the present, to the sun-warmed dirt of the training ground and the man on top of him, with his sly eyes and a tongue that Felix would argue, if he were at all the poetic type, was gold instead of silver.

***  
Felix is entirely covered in dust and his hair is wild when he and Claude finally leave the training area. He half-expects Claude to drag him off to change clothes before meeting his mother, but all he does is insist on redoing Felix’s braid and making sure his face is dirt-free before they go to find Tiana. 

The former Almyran queen is up on one of the rooftop gardens with Hilda and Marianne. She’s a small-boned woman with deeply-tanned skin and Claude’s green eyes, and her dark red hair gleams almost crimson in the late-afternoon sun. She looks up and smiles Claude’s smile at them as they make their way toward the seating area, then puts down the bow she’s been stringing and rises to her feet. She’s about an inch or two shorter than Claude, and she’s dressed like Hilda in a beaded top and skirt made of strips of silk and gauze. As she makes her way toward them, there’s a faint jingling sound from the bells around her wrists and ankles. 

“Khalid! Darling,” she cooes, in a voice that sounds shockingly girlish. “There you are. Come say hello.” She’s also clearly a dominant, the natural tones of it lacing her words. 

“Lady mother,” Claude says, bowing respectfully. “What a surprise to have you visit.” 

“Don’t be impertinent, son,” says Tiana. “I do not need your permission to visit my own home.” 

Claude sighs. “Of course not.” He takes his mother’s hands and raises them, saying something in Almyran that must be a greeting, as his mother repeats it back. There’s not a hint of hesitation or accent; she’s clearly fluent despite her heritage. “Mother, this is Felix of House Fraldarius. Felix, my mother, Lady Tiana of the Unbroken Bow.” 

“Hello,” Tiana says, turning her gaze to Felix. She studies him and Felix wonders, again, how he’s supposed to greet her; he opts for a bow, as he would do for any Fodlan noble. It seems appropriate, she smiles and steps right into his personal space, taking his chin in her hands. “I knew your father. My condolences. War takes so much from us.” 

“Thank you, my lady,” Felix says, stiffly. He wonders how she knew his father, but doesn’t ask. Her eyes really are just like Claude’s, bright green and shining with the same shrewd intelligence. He wonders if he’s supposed to say anything else. 

“Not much of a talker, is he, Khalid,” she says. 

Hilda laughs. 

“He talks,” Claude says. “When someone he just met isn’t holding his chin like a naughty schoolboy. Mother, really.” 

“What?” Tiana lets his chin go and smiles over at her son. “He’s pretty, Khalid. You’ve a talent for enticing the pretty ones, don’t you? Must get that from your father, eh, Hilda?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Hilda says, from where she is lounging on a padded chair. Next to her, arrayed on a pillow and shaded from the sun by an oversized canvas umbrella, Felix sees Marianne and immediately blushes as he realizes she’s entirely naked save her collar. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, Felix,” says Tiana, waving her hand. “Take your place so I may speak with my son.” 

Blinking, Felix glances at Claude -- and that’s when he notices there’s _another_ pillow, also under the shade of the umbrella near on the other side of Marianne’s. There’s a chair that is for Claude, and it’s clear where exactly Felix is supposed to sit. He takes a step, but then Tiana says, “Your submissive does understand I’m your mother, Khalid? And therefore this is just family?” 

“Of course he does,” Claude says. “They aren’t hatched from eggs in Faerghus, Mother.” 

“Then is there a reason he’s still dressed, son?” 

“What,” says Felix. He’s been naked around Claude, obviously. But -- this is a rooftop garden. They aren’t alone. They aren’t having sex, or going swimming like at the oasis. Claude’s _mother_ is right _there_. 

“Son, haven’t you trained him in our customs?” Tiana looks genuinely confused. She waves over at where Marianne is kneeling, quiet and content next to Hilda. “Hilda’s lovely one is a wonderful example, see? Perhaps you should let your wife handle him, Khalid.” 

“No way,” Hilda says, snorting. “He’s too much trouble for me. My sweet girl _wants_ to behave.” 

Felix’s face is on fire. “I would prefer to not do that.” 

“Behave?” Tiana asks, glancing between her son and Felix. 

Claude snorts, then steps in and takes Felix’s arm -- but Felix, acting out of instinct and his usual contrariness, yanks it away and takes a step back. Something flashes in Claude’s eyes, and Felix feels a stirring of unease but he can’t seem to stop himself from fighting.

“If you wish to have time with your family, I’ll go back to the training grounds,” Felix says. 

Claude smiles, and it’s the kind of smile that Felix knows to be wary of because it doesn’t reach his eyes. He smacks Felix across the face, hard enough to snap his head back. “Remember what I don’t like to do, Felix?” 

Felix glares at him, breathing a little too fast because he can’t help what Claude’s displays of dominance do to him. “Repeat yourself.” 

“Then strip and take your place as you’ve been bidden.” His voice is heavy with command, and Felix looks away but still doesn’t quite manage to do it. He isn’t sure why he’s having such a problem with this. Submissives in Enbarr were sometimes naked in front of other people, including family members. It’s not meant to be sexual, and he knows that. But he still can’t make himself obey. 

“I could send for your father if you need a hand with him,” Tiana says, apparently as much of an instigator as her son. 

“Not necessary. Is it, Felix?” Claude gets a hand around the back of his neck. “You’ll do what I say. That’s how this works.” 

It is. It should be. Felix _wants_ to be naked. He wants to have a place here. And maybe that’s what is keeping him from doing it. 

“We discussed hard limits, and being naked in non-sexual contexts was not one of yours,” Claude says. 

“Your _mother_ is here,” Felix says, in a strangled voice. 

“She’s the former queen of Almyra, you think she hasn’t seen her fair share of naked submissives on a pillow?” Hilda puts in, sounding amused. 

Claude takes Felix’s chin in his strong, calloused fingers. “What matters here is that you do what I’m telling you. If I have to make you, I promise you won’t like it.” 

Felix’s whole body, his brain, his _heart_ is screaming at him to stop fighting. To just strip and go kneel on the pillow -- he really _is_ hot, and his clothes are dirty, and maybe this would be easier if it were just Hilda and Marianne, but maybe not. All he knows is this is the first thing Claude’s told him to do that he wants and _doesn’t_ want to do with equal fervor. And faithful to who he is as a person, Felix focuses on the latter and doesn’t move. 

“Here’s how this is going to go. You do as instructed and I’ll punish you for disobeying in private. Keep fighting me, make me spend my time dealing with you...I’ll do it here in front of everyone. This is your choice.” Claude’s voice is even, but there’s a glint in his eyes and a set to his mouth, and Felix knows he’s not only disobeying but he’s ruining all the goodwill he’d earned from kneeling for Claude in front of his father. “My mother is my mother but she is also the former queen of this country. You won’t dishonor her -- or me -- by refusing to do something as simple as follow tradition. You’re not in Fodlan. So, last chance, Felix.” 

Felix knows exactly what Claude means by “punish”, too. The thought of being stripped and turned over Claude’s fucking _knee_ still makes his whole body flush hot and cold in turn. The thought of having it happen with an audience is humiliating in a different way. And Felix believes absolutely that Claude will do it. 

With a snarl, he pulls away from Claude and his fingers go to his shirt. They’re shaking a bit, but he yanks off the shirt and his undershirt with his head bowed, aware that everyone is staring at him. Claude holds a hand out and Felix very ungraciously slams the bundle of fabric into his chest instead. 

Claude’s mother says something in Almyran; Claude doesn’t react, but Tiana laughs and Felix’s face burns as he fumbles his way out of his boots and socks, then rises and pushes his pants and underwear off. His face is on fire, all of him is flushed from embarrassment and there is, even in the midst of all of this, a quiet relief in following instructions. 

“Your attitude is not making me very happy,” Claude says. 

“Too bad,” says Felix, shoving his pants at him. 

Claude’s definitely displeased; his mouth is tight and his eyes are cold as sea-glass as he points over at the pillow. “For you, maybe. Because you’re not getting these back until you earn the right to wear them. Now go sit _down_ and you’re under voice restrictions, so I don’t want to hear you speak until I speak to you. Go. And at least try and kneel like you want to be here.” 

Felix stomps over to the pillow next to Marianne. His face is on fire, and he kneels with his head bowed and his fisted hands on his knees. 

“I know it’s a little strange,” Marianne says softly, to him. “You will get used to it.”

Felix glances at her, and he gives a slight nod to show that he is grateful for her kindness even if he can’t say that. He doesn’t even know why this was so hard for him; the second he’s kneeling, he can tell that no one is even paying him any attention. It would have been nice, maybe, to lounge on the pillow naked and let the cool breeze wash over his perpetually overheated skin. 

Why did he fight this so hard? 

_Is it because you still think you’re a duke? You gave that up when you refused to fight for Faerghus and your king. You were never good enough for him. What makes you think you’ll be good enough for this one?_

Felix is horrified to feel his eyes burn. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t quiet his thoughts and fall under like he so badly wants. He just keeps thinking about why he’s constantly fighting a king to whom he wants nothing more than to _belong_ , about how it means he’s not good enough to even be here at all. 

His face is wet, his shoulders shaking slightly. His hair is up, and he wishes it was down -- it’s supposed to be, around family, didn’t Claude say that? He hadn’t said a word when Felix stripped, ungraciously though he might have done it, and does that -- does it mean something? 

Felix reaches up, hand shaking, trying to pull at his braid - but he’s supposed to kneel properly, which means his hands should be still. This is impossible, isn’t it? He has to kneel, but he’s breaking a rule by having his hair braided. Is Claude trying to trick him into failing? 

His stomach tenses and roils at the thought. That doesn’t do anything to make him stop thinking about the last time he’d tried to belong to a king and failed so spectacularly that said king is now dead. He breathes through his nose, wishing his hair was down so he could hide. 

“Oh,” Marianne says, softly. “Hilda, may I see to Felix, please?” 

“Hmm? Oh, baby girl, I don’t know -- you should ask Claude, but be polite and don’t interrupt, sweetheart, okay?” 

“Yes, thank you, Hilda,” says Marianne, and then rises gratefully to her feet. Claude is sitting on the chair next to Felix’s pillow but his back is to Felix as he speaks to his mother; Tiana doesn’t look as if she even notices Felix is there. If Marianne is bothered at being naked in front of the former queen, she doesn’t look it at all. She stands politely with her head bowed, until Claude gives her his attention. “May I see to Felix, please, your majesty?” 

_Don’t let her, you shouldn’t_. Felix stares down at the ground and refuses to look up even though he feels Claude’s eyes on him. He struggles as best he can to not let Claude see any hint of weakness, because he remembers very well what happened when he showed it to Dimitri. 

“Sure,” Claude says. “Thanks, Marianne.” 

Marianne returns to her pillow, and then Felix feels her hands gently undoing his hair from its braid. It’s longer than he’s ever worn it, and it falls forward immediately, giving him the illusion of being able to hide. She even untangles it, fingers far too gentle as she works at the knots. 

“It’s all right,” she says, once she’s worked the worst of them out. “I struggled, too. In different ways, and for different reasons. But don’t let Hilda fool you. I wasn’t always easy, either.” 

“You were perfect,” Hilda praises. 

“I wasn’t, but thank you. I wanted to be perfect, for you,” Marianne says, her voice full of love and so much affection that’s almost too much to hear in his current fucked-up mental state. Then there’s something cool on his face, and he realizes she’s wiping his tears with a cloth soaked in cold water. 

He jerks back, feeling as if he hasn’t earned this, but Marianne says quietly, “Claude said it was all right. Please, let me take care of you.” 

Felix laughs softly under his breath, the sound harsh and bitter with a surfeit of emotion that, even if he could talk, he’s not sure he could put into words. Marianne gently cleans his face, then presses the cool cloth to the back of his neck and down, over the tensed muscles of his back and lower still, to glide over the insides of his wrists. 

“Is that better?” 

It is; he nods once, and Marianne dips the cloth in cool water and gently arrays it on the back of his neck. That, and having his hair down, really _does_ help him settle. It’s a bit of a shock; kindness has never been something he’s sought out or thought he needed, has fought it tooth and nail and maybe that’s because he likes it. He likes it more than he wants to, but when Marianne smooths his hair back and presses a kiss to his temple, he manages a smile to thank her. 

She winks at him, and then goes back to her pillow. Hilda immediately pets her, showering her with praise, and Marianne practically glows under the attention. 

Felix glances through his hair over at Claude, and Claude is looking at him with a strange expression -- he doesn’t smile, but Felix feels some tension eek out of his shoulders and that’s something, he supposes. Felix concentrates on breathing, his mind settling at last into something quieter, calmer. 

He’s nearly under when he hears the door to the rooftop garden open, and Felix goes tense again immediately when he realizes they’ve been joined by Claude’s father -- but Malik spares him only the slightest glance and then lifts his wife bodily, takes her chair, and settles back with Tiana on his lap. 

They converse entirely in Almyran; Felix hears the phrase that means _fox cub_ a few times, but no one speaks _to_ him, so he lets it go and drifts as the sun slowly goes down. He’s not quite comfortable since he’s kneeling instead of lounging, but by the time Tiana and Malik leave them alone, he’s at least under enough not to struggle when Claude stands before him and tips his chin up. 

“Let’s go inside.” 

He nods and stands up, and it doesn’t even occur to him that he’s naked as he follows Claude through the door and inside the palace proper. Claude takes him to the royal suite and Felix is quiet as they enter, heading into the bedroom. 

Claude sits on the edge of the bed, and Felix goes to his knees in front of him. He bows his head, his hair falling forward again, and after a moment Claude lifts his chin and forces his gaze to him. “Why did you fight me on that? I know collared submissives in Fodlan go naked in front of people all the time.” 

Felix doesn’t know how to answer, but he’s also still under voice restrictions. Which Claude seems to realize because he says, “You can talk now.” 

“I don’t know,” Felix says, voice rough. He feels stupid. He’s also sorry, but he’s not quite ready to say that yet. 

“All right.” Claude leans forward. “It felt better to do what I told you, didn’t it?” 

Felix draws in a breath. “Eventually.” 

“After Marianne helped you?” 

“After -- my hair was down.” Felix struggles for his words at the best of times; it’s both harder and easier to do it when he’s under. “You said it was family. And I. My hair. You want it down when it’s not in public but I -- couldn’t. Move, or ask you.” 

“Oh.” Claude looks a little abashed. “Wow, yeah. That was my fault. I should have remembered. How about this -- if I forget that, you can take it down. I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention, to put you in a position where you couldn’t win. I want you to please me, not tear yourself up about it. Is that why you were crying?”

Ugh. Felix had hoped he didn’t notice that. It would be easy to say _yes_ and take the out, but it would be a lie. And Claude had just apologized for doing something wrong. That’s not anything Felix expected, so. “No. I dropped.” 

“Ah.” Claude sighs. “Okay. Do you want to tell me about it?” 

Felix pauses. He does, but he can’t right now - not because he doesn’t want to, he realizes, but because all he can think about is how he let Claude down by not obeying to what honestly wasn’t that big of a deal. “I -- you’re angry.” 

“No, I’m not angry,” Claude says, with a little frown. “Do I seem angry?” 

Felix shakes his head. 

“You’re under, I can tell, but something’s the matter.” Claude strokes his hair, his face. His touch is as gentle as Marianne’s. Felix remembers the way Marianne leaned into Hilda, the way she blossomed like the sun under Hilda’s warm approval and pleasure. 

That’s what he wants. Felix drags in a breath. “Can I. Ask for something.” 

Claude’s eyebrows go up, clearly surprised, but his voice is even when he speaks. “Of course you can.” 

“I -- need you to. Make it better.” He stares at Claude. Claude has to know what he’s asking. _Make it so you’re happy with me._ He’s trembling again. This is almost as hard as giving in and stripping naked was, earlier. “Please,” he adds, softly, turning his face into Claude’s hand. 

“How can I make it better?” 

“You know,” Felix says, voice soft. 

“I want you to say it.” Claude takes his chin in his fingers and gently brings Felix’s face up to his own. “We both know what it is. Ask me. What do you need to make it better, Felix?” 

“I - punish me for disobeying,” Felix manages, and his face burns in sweet humiliation. “Like you said you would.” He wants this to be behind them, wants Claude’s approval like Marianne has Hilda’s. 

“And how should I punish you?” Claude chuckles when Felix gives him the best glare he can manage in his state for making Felix ask. “You’re doing so well, sweet thing. Go on.” 

It still takes Felix a few long moments of trembling indecision before he gets it out. “Spank me.” There. Goddess, that was -- his face burns and his stomach drops, but this time it’s not unpleasant. His cock stirs between his legs. 

Claude’s smile is wicked and so pleased. “Up here, over my knees.” 

“Ugh.” Felix groans, but half-hearted because that makes his cock harder and his flush worse, the butterflies flaring up into a riot as he gets gracefully to his feet and -- after a brief look at a _very_ smug Claude’s face, he gingerly arranges himself over Claude’s knees. 

It feels both wrong and _completely_ absurd and also hot in a way Felix can’t deny as he sort of balances himself there, naked over Claude’s lap. “I feel ridiculous.” 

“That’s not all you’re feeling, though, is it? I can tell. All right, well, you know why I’m doing this, right?” He pats Felix on the ass. “You disobeyed when I told you to do something. You challenged my authority and I told you to stop.” 

Felix just exhales, staring down at the tile floor without answering. 

“All right, then.” He pushes Felix’s hair over one shoulder, and then says, “Ten and then you’re forgiven. Don’t look at me like it needs to be more, it doesn’t and believe me, I’ll make it so you feel it. I’m going to teach you how to count in Almyran, too. If you mess up I’ll spank you until you say it correctly. Ready?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says. He swallows and tries not to think about why his cock is suddenly so hard he aches. From being _punished_. s

“Here’s how you say _one_ ,” says Claude, and tells him the Almyran before he brings his hand down, hard, on Felix’s ass. 

Felix jumps. He’s not sure what he expected, but _saints_ , this isn’t it; Claude wasn’t kidding, he really _is_ making sure Felix feels it. It’s not a love tap. Claude is really going to spank him. 

He sucks in a breath and says the words he’s taught for _one, two, three_. Four trips him up once, the word for _five_ gets him twice. Felix is panting by _six_ and his cock is wet with pre-come by the time he gets to _seven_. By _eight_ he’s practically writhing on Claude’s lap, making breathless, broken little sounds and arching up into Claude’s firm hand. 

“Felix, oh, sweet thing, you’re so good, that’s it,” Claude breathes, and when Felix glances up at him, Claude’s eyes are wide and dilated, his mouth parted, his expression almost blissful. He tells Felix the word for _nine_ and smacks Felix hard on the meaty part of his upper thighs below his ass, and Felix practically sobs. It hurts, so perfectly, he almost wants it to never end except that when it does, he’ll be -- good. Forgiven. 

He forgets to count, though, so Claude does it again, and then again when Felix says “nine” in Fodlan instead of Almyran. 

Claude grabs him by his wild, messy hair and pulls his face up. “You’re fucking my leg, do you realize that?” 

Felix’s only answer is a moan, because he hadn’t, not really, but fuck. He is, rubbing his hard cock against Claude’s clothed thigh in a desperate search for friction. “I -- sorry, I can’t -- Khalid, I can’t _stop_ \--” 

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Claude says. “Take one more for me. One more, and don’t come, and then you can have whatever you want to get off. One more.” He gives Felix the word for _ten_ , which Felix can barely hear through the roaring in his ears, and then brings his hand down so hard on Felix’s reddened ass that the word escapes in a half-sob and it only sort of sounds like the word he was given, but Claude doesn’t seem to care that much. 

Felix’s face is wet with sweat and tears, his hair is sticking to him everywhere and he’s so hard that he’s shaking, on edge, his ass on _fire_. Claude runs his fingers over the bruised skin, light and easy, and the sensation is such a shock after the pain that Felix moans outright. “Please, please --” 

“What do you want? Tell me,” Claude demands, and when he scratches at Felix’s reddened ass with his nails, Felix _howls_. “How do you want to come, sweet thing?” 

“Like _this_ ,” Felix moans, too far gone to care how desperate he sounds. “Just like this. _Please_.” 

“On my lap, while I scratch you?” Claude asks, sounding as worked up as Felix feels, which is almost as gratifying as the way he’s pressing his thigh up against Felix’s wet, aching cock. “Or do you want more? I know how to make it feel good, too, is that what you want?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Felix moans. “Yes.” 

“Good. You’re so good for me. All right. You can come whenever you like, but let me hear you.” 

There’s no way Felix could be quiet even if he wanted to. Claude spanks him again, but this isn’t the same; it’s short little smacks, alternating with more scratches and a few sharp pulls on his hair. Felix isn’t counting, but if he was, he’d probably only make it to _four_ before his body seizes and he comes all over Claude’s lap with the loudest sound he’s ever made from pleasure in his _life_. It breaks over him in waves, and Felix fucks out his orgasm against Claude’s thigh until he falls practically boneless and hangs there, panting harshly and practically inhaling his hair. 

When the last rush of it fades, he realizes Claude is gently rubbing his ass, his touch meant to soothe. He’s speaking in Almyran, and his other hand gathers Felix’s hair and pulls it away from Felix’s sweaty skin.

“My lovely fox, do you feel better?” Claude asks, in Fodlan, once Felix has dragged enough air in his lungs to breathe properly. 

Felix blinks a few times, looking at Claude with a dazed expression. Of course he does. He feels so good. He feels _amazing_. Worn out and empty and perfect.

Claude has two bright spots of color on his cheeks. Felix is dimly aware of Claude’s erection, which he can feel now pressing against his side. He pushes himself up to his feet, grateful for all the years he’s hauled himself through training while exhausted so that he can, and then turns and practically throws himself at Claude, toppling him back to the bed. 

“I -- aha, hey there, wow,” says Claude, arms going around him. “I guess that’s a yes.” 

Felix kisses him - his mouth, his face, his neck, his flushed cheeks -- before he pulls back and stares down at him. “I want your collar,” Felix tells him, because he can say it, now, finally. “Please.” 

Claude’s smile turns into a grin. His eyes turn bright, and then brighter, like they’re lit from within by the sun. He takes Felix’s face in his hands, and laughs with delight. “My fox. Yes. Of course.” 

Overcome, Felix presses his face in Claude’s neck and breathes in his scent. He’ll have to tell him everything, of course, he knows that’s what it means. But in the moment, drowning in Claude’s obvious approval and a sense of _belonging_ that he’s wanted and fought against wanting for his whole life, Felix can’t even worry about that part. 

This is right. This is how it is supposed to be. For the first time in his life, Felix doesn’t want to fight it anymore. 

And it feels better than he even imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder this is the Crimson Flower ds-verse fic; you can read the co-written [Trade Agreement](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453305) and the sequel, [International Relations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565619) (both complete!) for the Azure Moon version :D


	13. sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family dinner, redux.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is some heavy stuff, so, here, have some cute gentleness with aftercare and desserts on fire and fruitbats and Marianne as best girl.
> 
> ALSO PLEASE SEE THE ART FROM THIS CHAPTER HERE: [Felix and Claude on the rooftop, Felix in his submissive's robe and Claude looking hot af](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare/status/1259211264930181120). This art is courtesy of [Weicheidarling](https://twitter.com/weicheidarling)!

Felix drifts. 

He’s aware, mostly, of Claude easing him to the side so he can take off his own clothes. He’s also vaguely aware of Claude leading him to the bath, and how the hot water stings as Claude helps him in. Claude talks to him, but Felix thinks it might be in Almyran -- or else he’s just not quite with it enough to understand the words. 

Either way, Claude’s approval feels like sunshine after a Faerghan winter. It feels like a hot meal after a hard day’s work. A good night’s sleep after weeks of exhaustion. And Felix _basks_ in it, like a cat flopped over in the sun, nowhere to be and nothing to do but enjoy. 

The bath involves being scrubbed clean and it’s Claude who does that, taking care of him with easy dominance as he shifts Felix this way and that, washes his hair and combs out the ever-present tangles. He laughs when Felix practically throws himself into the cold water of the smaller pool, which brings him back enough to feel the slight ache from the spanking and does nothing to pull him out of his bone-deep satisfaction. 

It does, however, make him aware enough to realize his dominant is taking care of him and has also not gotten off yet. Felix blinks the cool water out of his face and says, haltingly, “Are you. Don’t you want....should I...?” 

Claude must realize what he means because he laughs softly and kisses Felix. “You should do exactly what you’re doing. I like aftercare. You make me earn it, so let me do it.” 

“I -- that’s not --” 

Claude puts a hand over his mouth. “Shh. I’ve never had the pleasure of putting you under this much. It’s good for me, too, yeah? Gods, of course you even fight this part.” He laughs again -- he keeps doing that, he’s so _happy_ and Felix can’t quite believe it’s because of him. 

Felix doesn’t make people happy. He fights, all the time. He’s a weapon, he kills and maims and he’s too much, he makes people tired and he doesn’t make them smile so bright or touch him like he’s precious. 

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Claude asks, pressing him back against the side of the bathing pool and kissing him. 

Felix nods. He can’t stop touching Claude, either; running his hands down Claude’s muscular arms, his back, down his chest. Over his stomach. Through the damp curls of his hair. His face. His mouth. 

“I like this so much, but I am not you and I did not grow up in a snowbank. Let’s get in bed. You’re going to sleep with us tonight, all right?” Claude is actually shivering as he disentangles Felix’s arms and climbs out of the pool. Felix enjoys the sight of him walking naked to get some towels, and after he’s wrapped one around his hips he stands by the pool and says, “Out you go, come here.” 

Felix does as bidden and climbs out. He lets Claude dry him and follows him back into the bedroom, where Claude has pulled the sheets of his huge, massive bed back and ushers him in. 

He draws Felix against him immediately, and for a long time all they do is lie tangled together in the bed, kissing, hands moving lazily over each other. 

“I do want you to ask me again,” Claude says, after a bit, when Felix is lying on his back, vaguely concerned at how damp his hair is and what that means for the state of Claude’s pillow. “So I know it’s not just because I put you under that far.” 

“I wanted to ask you earlier,” Felix says. “I just couldn’t.” He’d honestly like to stay like this forever, all his anxieties and worries that he’s just _too much_ settled under Claude’s hand, his dominance, his _care_. “I didn’t know it could be like this.” 

“Ah, sweet thing, my pretty fox, this is how it’s supposed to be,” Claude says, propped up on his side next to him. “Or so I’ve always been told. It’s never been like this for me, either.” He seems to like playing with Felix’s hair, tugging strands through his fingers and winding it idly this way and that. It’ll make it tangle again, probably, but Felix doesn’t care. 

“Do you think.” Felix glances up at him. “I mean. Will I always have to be...punished...to make it feel like this?” 

Something flashes over Claude’s face. “No. I don’t think so. But since you’re feeling so chatty, can you tell me why you fought that so hard? Of all the things I thought you’d go over my lap for, it wasn’t that. Is being naked like that in Fodlan so weird?” 

“Yes, but only because it’s cold,” says Felix, only half-joking. “It wasn’t that, it was -- I don’t know if it will make sense if I haven’t -- I need to tell you what happened with him. With Dimitri,” he adds, because he hasn’t used Dimitri’s name even though he knows Claude must have surely guessed. 

“Do you want to tell me now?” 

Felix thinks about this. “I do, but I...don’t. I sort of don’t want to ruin the first time it’s ever been so _right_ by telling you about the time it...wasn’t.” He glances up at Claude. “I will, though. If you want me to.” 

“That’s headspace Felix who wants to please his dominant, yeah?” Claude draws his fingers over Felix’s neck. Felix tips his head back to show his throat, easy, immediate. Claude’s eyes flash and he smiles that pleased, happy smile that is just on the edge of a smirk. It’s incredibly sexy. “As long as I know that I didn’t cross a line, earlier.” 

“No. You didn’t. I wanted to -- belong. Part of the family. But I’m not good at that. Wanting something. Taking it when it’s offered. I’m afraid I --” he stops, shaking his head. 

“That you’ll get it, and then it will be taken away?” Claude asks, very gently. 

Felix nods. “Also, your mom is hot and maybe that part was a _little_ weird.” 

Claude just laughs. “She really is used to it, though. But okay. Thank you for telling me.” 

“Your parents didn’t give you grief, did they? Because I, ah. Disobeyed.” 

Claude snorts a laugh. “Of _course_ they did. Come on, Felix. This apple didn’t fall far from the tree, you had to have noticed.” 

Felix smiles, and then _he_ laughs. “Sorry.” 

“You’re not. And you shouldn’t be. They said you were exactly what I needed, and deserved, according to my father.” Claude’s smile makes him look younger, more carefree, a bit like he did at the Academy except it’s for real this time. “Mm. I’m so happy you want to be mine. Look at you. Gorgeous, fighty, and I _won_ you. I’m so pleased with myself. I’m probably going to be unbearably smug for at least a year.” 

Felix promptly covers his eyes with his arm. He groans. “Stop.” 

“You like praise. You can’t fool me. Also, no hiding, Felix the Amber-Eyed, my sweet fox.” 

Felix makes a face and drops his arms. “Your first sobriquet really should be _Khalid the Insufferable_.” 

“Probably not wrong,” Claude says, cheerfully. He leans down and kisses Felix again. “I loved how much you liked being turned over my knee, by the way.” 

Felix groans and turns his face, his next attempt at hiding. “Again. Stop.” 

“Nope.” Claude turns his face back. “For the record, the first part was the punishment, the second part was for fun.” 

“Yeah, I got that when you let me get off,” Felix grumbles, and submits to yet another kiss. This one turns a bit heated, Claude’s tongue pressing into his mouth and he half-rolls on top of Felix, lazily pushing his hips forward so that Felix can feel the press of Claude’s hardening cock while they make out with increasing fervor. 

“Speaking of getting off,” Claude says, against his mouth. 

“Hello? What - Claude, are you two in bed? It’s _seven-thirty_.” 

Claude lifts his head, blinks, and then aims a glance toward the doorway where Hilda is standing, amused, with a smiling Marianne. “I’m the king, Hilda. If I want to take my submissive to bed at seven-thirty and fuck him, I will.” 

“Sure,” says Hilda. “But it’s also, like. Time for dinner? Isn’t Felix hungry?” 

“He’s hungry for King Khalid the Silver-Tongue’s cock,” says Claude. 

Felix groans. “I can’t believe you just said that.” 

“Believe it, Felix. He’s the worst.” Hilda pads over to the bed, the bells sewn into her clothing and worn at her wrists and ankles jingling softly. She peers down at them. “Wait -- Claude! Did you both get into bed with wet hair? Ew!” 

“Can I please fuck Felix before dinner, or what,” asks Claude, who adds in a mock-whisper, “The real dominant in charge of us all is Hilda.” 

“Damn right,” says Hilda, tossing her hair. “And sure, whatever, but you’re sleeping on that pillow.” She pauses. “Your parents are going to be here in like, ten minutes though.” 

“I like a challenge,” says Claude, leaning over Felix and kissing him. “Also, whatever, my parents can deal with it.” He sounds like a rebellious teenager planning to sneak out after curfew. 

“You sound like a rebellious teenager planning to sneak out after curfew,” says Hilda, which is vaguely alarming to Felix. 

“I’m neither a teenager nor am I sneaking out after curfew, because ha _ha_ , Hilda, I don’t _have_ one.” Smirking Claude climbs on top of Felix and beams up at her. “Tell my parents we’ll be there eventually.” 

“I’m not waiting for you to eat, I’m starving,” says Hilda. “And I know you never take ten minutes when you’re in this mood. Maybe I should have Mari bring Felix a snack before you get started.” 

Marianne, from her place by the door, giggles - the sound soft and light as Hilda’s bells. 

“Too late,” Claude says, waggling his eyebrows. 

Hilda laughs. “Thank the Goddess you have Felix and I don’t have to deal with you by myself anymore.” 

“Can we,” Felix says, embarrassed and amused and feeling the warm buzz of contentment at feeling like he belongs, here, amidst this admittedly crazy conversation with these assorted weirdos. “Stop talking or --” he shivers as Claude kisses at his neck. “Ah.” 

“Unless you two want a show,” Claude says, raising his head. “Do you? Felix probably wouldn’t mind.” 

“Saints,” Felix groans. He’s not sure he minds, exactly, but this is all a bit much. 

“Maybe later. Definitely later.” Hilda smiles at Claude with obvious fondness, then turns to head back to Marianne. 

“Oh, hey, Hilda? I think you were right about the teal. And a black velvet one with a cute dangling little amber stone. Like for a pampered cat.” 

Felix has no idea what this means, but Hilda stops in her tracks, _shrieks_ , and turns back to them. “Really? Oh, Claude! I’m so happy for you!” She then climbs on the bed, leans over Felix and kisses Claude. “I can do that. Good call on the black velvet.” With that, she pulls back and kisses _Felix_ , a brief press of her soft mouth and sweet-smelling, sun-warmed skin against his before she rights herself. “I knew it, but good job figuring it out. Just for that, I’ll hold dinner but _not_ the appetizer course.” 

“My queen, you’re too good to me,” says Claude, and then Hilda is gone in a flurry of bells and with some whispering and giggling with Marianne. “Now, finally. Where were we?” says Claude, as if most of the delay wasn’t his perpetual need to banter with someone. Silver-tongued, indeed.

Felix thinks about asking what that was about, but he suddenly has Claude on top of him and finds he doesn’t much care -- it can wait. 

***  
It of course takes longer than ten minutes. 

It only takes half that for Claude to have Felix panting for it, but he takes his time, teasing and drawing it out until Felix is a mess and desperate for Claude to fuck him. By the time Claude does, Felix on his back and staring up at Claude with a probably starry-eyed look on his face that he can’t hide because for once he sort of doesn’t want to. 

Then they need to quickly clean up, and Claude pulls on a loose pair of silk trousers and rakes his hands through his hair a few times. Then he combs Felix’s hair, _again_ , and rummages around his armoire for something, muttering to himself in a mix of languages and Felix’s fingers twitch with the desire to hang up all his clothes. Claude always was messy, back at the Academy. 

“I know this is in here somewhere, it’s -- aha!” Claude’s dark head emerges from the interior, and he triumphantly holds out a silk robe and shakes it a bit to show Felix. It’s gold, embroidered with red threads showing a stylized wyvern with ribbons entwined on its talons and horns, set against the backdrop of a setting sun. “This is for you.” 

“Oh,” says Felix. It’s beautiful, but he’s a little concerned that his earlier display of stubbornness on the roof means Claude doesn’t trust him to adhere to Almyran tradition without a fight. 

“No, don’t misunderstand,” Claude says, tugging the sash to open the robe. “It’s intended for the king’s submissive. We don’t have collars, but this sends the same message -- especially for my parents, who don’t really get collaring. Marianne will have hers on, so, I thought...if you’d rather wait until we talk about this, though, you can borrow a pair of trousers or go naked, except I think one of the desserts tonight will be on fire since it’s my mom’s favorite and that can be a bit, ah. Daunting to eat naked, considering we eat so close to the table.” 

“No,” Felix says, shaking his head. “I wanted your collar weeks ago. I just -- needed to be able to ask you for it. I’m not going to change my mind. The robe is fine. It’s beautiful,” he adds, because it is. 

Claude smiles. “Arms out, then, I’ll put it on you. I’d lie and say that’s tradition, but I just want to touch you.” 

Felix flushes, but he holds his arms out and lets Claude slip the robe on him. It’s heavier than he thought, but cool on his skin, and when it’s belted, Claude turns him gently toward the mirror on the inside of the door of his armoire. “The ribbons on the wyvern are supposed to be you? It’s kind of symbolic, you know, but...honestly, I’m not sure what it’s supposed to say, ribbons on a wyvern, other than if I’m the wyvern and you’re the ribbons, then you’re...pretty. You’re pretty, Felix.” 

“I don’t think that’s what it means,” Felix says, but he likes how it looks, and the weight of it is comforting, somehow. It gives him a thrill knowing this is meant for Claude’s submissive -- _Khalid’s_ submissive -- and that is _him_. The arms are a little long, and it’s honestly a little big, but he doesn’t care. 

“I mean, sometimes symbolism really is that simple. I suspect my dad told me once, but I probably wasn’t paying attention.” 

Felix stares at himself in the mirror. His inky black hair spills around the silk, and the gold looks nice, he supposes, with his eyes. Claude seems pleased, standing behind him with that smile of his -- he calls Felix a fox, but really, Claude resembles one in this moment way more than Felix. 

“Can you tell me how to say something in Almyran?” Felix asks. “To your mother.” 

“She speaks Fodlan, remember?” 

Felix rolls his eyes. “Yes, but I want to say it in Almyran.” 

“Sure,” Claude says, tying his hair back with a gold sash etched in green. “What is it?” His eyebrows raise up to his hairline when Felix says it, but he doesn’t offer commentary, just calmly repeats the phrase for Felix a few times until he seems satisfied that Felix isn’t accidentally declaring war or something. 

There are bells on the sash of the robe, which the swordsman in him isn’t sure he likes -- he’s used to stepping quiet, like a cat -- but the submissive in him does, and Felix follows Claude into the dining room. 

Claude’s parents are there, and they just sort of smirk and say something to Claude in Almyran that makes Claude actually _blush_ , and Hilda beams and claps her hands when she sees Felix in the robe. Marianne is wearing one, too; hers is a beautiful pale blue with swallows encircling a rising sun with ribbons of gold instead of red. Maybe she knows what it means. He’ll have to ask her, later. 

Malik is in the same loose trousers as Claude, bare-chested, and his entire torso is one scar after another, criss-crossing his brown skin. His hair is damp and his beard neatly trimmed, he has a gold wyvern pendant similar to the one Claude always wears around his neck, too. His chest is furry. He’s an attractive man. Felix wonders if Claude is going to achieve that same level of beard mastery in a few years. He doesn’t think Claude will get nearly the same amount of chest hair, though.

Tiana looks lovely in her silk and beaded ensemble, similar to Hilda’s, and her hair has the same curl as her son’s, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Felix bows to Malik, eyes submissively lowered because he couldn’t do otherwise even if he tried -- Malik exudes dominance like a cologne -- and does the same to Lady Tiana. Then, he says the phrase Claude taught him in careful, halting Almyran, hoping it’s correct. 

“You -- are sorry for showing my king the roof’s disobedience to son, tomorrow?” Tiana asks, in Fodlan. 

“Ah,” says Felix, realizing he’d messed that all up. “No, I - apologize for showing disobedience to your son, the king, on the roof. Earlier. That’s what I meant.” 

“Oh, that.” Tiana waves a hand. “He needs someone to disobey him every now and then. Khalid gets bored when anything is too easy.” 

“Only a weak king fears challenge, Fox-cub,” Malik informs him. His voice shakes the room like thunder. “Challenge him more. Is good. But stop falling over.” 

Felix gives Claude a look, who just sort of shrugs and throws his hands up as if to say, _what do you do_? Felix is mostly quiet as he sits on his pillow next to Claude, enjoying the variety of spicy food and somehow still surprised, even though he was warned, when the dessert honestly does come out on fire. 

“Because that’s what this country needs, more things on _fire_ ,” Felix mutters, and Marianne smiles at him across the table. 

After dessert, while everyone is talking over cups of strong Almyran pine tea, Felix sees Marianne speak softly to Hilda before ducking out onto the adjacent balcony. Felix waits for a moment, then after a nod from Claude, goes out to join her.

She’s holding a few bits of leftover fruit, and there’s something small and winged in her hand eating it. Marianne is cooing softly to whatever it is, and Felix immediately stills, not wanting to startle the -- thing -- away. But even a slight movement makes the bells on his robe jingle, and the little creature scuttles off with a flap of wings into the night. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, shortly. “I didn’t mean to scare it off.” 

“Oh, it’s okay. He’s a greedy little thing, he’ll be back.” She tosses the rest of the fruit over the balcony and turns to Felix with a smile. 

“Was it -- a bird?” Felix asks, joining her at the railing of the balcony. 

“No, no. A fruit bat. They’re very cute!” Marianne beams. “I wanted to make friends with one, but they’re shy.” 

Felix has seen a few bats in his day, and he would have never thought them “cute” -- maybe Almyran ones are different. He stares out into the dark for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just wanted to say thank you,” he says, gruffly. “For today.” 

“Oh, yes, of course. I -- well, I could tell you were having a bit of a difficult moment,” Marianne says. “I’m pleased you don’t mind that I did that. I should have asked, maybe.” 

“You did ask,” Felix reminds her. 

“Well, yes, but … you. I should have asked you, before. If it was all right to touch you.” Marianne’s wide gray eyes stare up at him, earnest and calm. “Do you feel better, now?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says. He glances at her, curious as she stares, deeply contented, out at the stars. “You were different. At the Academy.” 

“We all were,” she says, calmly. “Weren’t you?” 

Felix makes a soft sound, as bitter as the tea the others were drinking. “No. I was angry and impossible. The same.” 

“Felix,” she says, with a gentle smile. “You don’t seem nearly as angry now. Maybe just a little cranky.” 

He’s still relaxed enough that he can at least give a less caustic chuckle at that. “Maybe.” 

“What is it you want to ask?” she prods him. “Please, just go ahead. I don’t mind. We’re family now, aren’t we?” 

He sighs, contrary enough that he doesn’t want to just outright ask but dinner is winding down and he’s not sure how long they’ll have to themselves. “Yeah. I -- you just seem. Happier. Is it because of Hilda?” 

“It’s because of me,” she says. “I changed.” She touches one hand to her chest. “Hilda helped, of course. She’s a force of nature, don’t let her delicate flower routine fool you.” 

“Yeah, that never did work on me,” Felix assures her, and wonders if the look on her face is ever reflected in his, in the unguarded moments he thinks about Claude. 

Marianne’s laugh still takes Felix by surprise -- she hardly ever smiled, back when he knew her, before. If he ever really did know her at all. “You’re going to take Claude’s collar, right? That’s why you’re wearing the robe.” 

Hearing it sends a little frisson of pleasure up Felix’s spine, settling warm in his stomach. “Yeah.” 

“Asking for it, was it harder than admitting you wanted it?” She gives him a sidelong glance. “Please don’t feel you have to answer if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s all right.” Felix finds himself suddenly very glad she’s here. It’s a friendship he never would have seen coming, but he’s grateful for it all the same. “Asking was harder than admitting I wanted it.” 

“The hardest thing for me was admitting I deserved her collar at all,” Marianne says, fingers touching her collar lightly. “I thought I was a curse. Worthless. That no one should have to put up with me.” 

Felix winces. That hits a bit close to home, and also, he can’t imagine how she could think that; sweet Marianne, who talks softly to birds and feeds grapes to fruitbats from her palm. Felix can barely make nice with a horse long enough to ride it somewhere. “They don’t always treat us well in Fodlan. Submissives, I mean. They definitely didn’t always, in Faerghus.” 

“Oh, you misunderstand. I didn’t hate myself because I was a submissive. I really did think my family was cursed and I was inherently bad luck to have around.” Her gaze in the moonlight is calm like the sea on a windless night. “There’s very few things that make a submissive more miserable than thinking our service is going to bring despair instead of comfort, Felix. At least, that’s how it always felt for me. When I finally realized it wasn’t true, that I wasn’t worthless, then that’s when I learned to smile and mean it. To be happy. And yes, being here is wonderful, I adore Claude and I love Hilda more than I can say, but I fought, too. Not quite the same as you, but...I did. Even when I knew there was no curse, it was hard to undo all of those years of thinking it was true.” 

“I don’t know if I can stop,” Felix says, honestly. 

“I don’t think Claude wants you to stop fighting _him_ ,” Marianne says, laying a gentle hand on his arm. “I think he wants you to stop fighting _yourself_.” 

“Oh.” Felix swallows, hard, playing with the sash of his robe. “Oh.” 

She smiles and pats his arm. “I worked through it. So will you. It doesn’t happen overnight. One thing that helped me was to see that I was -- I was good for her. For Hilda. Not as in, I behaved for her, but...my submitting to her, it helped her, too. She’s, ah.” Marianne’s smile edges into wicked, and it’s cute. “A handful as a dominant. But she was always afraid of disappointing people, and it helps, I think, to see me settled and happy under her hand and in her collar.” 

Felix thinks about this. About Claude, and all the things Claude has told him about his life. Constantly trying to marry the disparate facets of his personality, his background. To make peace where there’s only been war. To find somewhere to really belong. 

“Claude always seems to have it together,” Felix says, hedging a bit. 

“Of course he does. He has no other choice. He’s the king. You’re good for him, though. He knows it, Hilda knows it. Even I know it. Now, you just need to know it, too.” 

Felix ducks his head, a bit overcome. “Thanks. I -- I’ll try. I thought I could be good for someone once and it went -- badly. I wasn’t good enough.” 

“Maybe it wasn’t you that wasn’t good enough,” she says, simply. “Maybe it was him. Maybe he’s the one who didn’t deserve _you_.” She leans up and kisses his cheek, then turns and heads back inside. 

Startled, Felix watches her leave. He’s always thought he could have been better, tried harder, fought more, forced Dimitri to listen to him. Saved him from the ghosts he was so determined to placate instead of ruling the living as he was meant to. 

Shaken by this thought, Felix turns to look at the sweeping dark expanse of the royal gardens. Something scuttles in the underbrush; he can see something fly from one tree to another. Maybe Marianne’s fruitbat. Felix leans his forearms against the railing. He feels like the world was just upended. The idea that it wasn’t him that was unworthy, but Dimitri, seems like -- like _blasphemy_. 

_Is it? You knew he was too focused on his vengeance to notice the archbishop was leading him into some theological holy war that was going to end with Faerghus in flames. The Dimitri you loved and wanted to kneel for, that man died in Duscur with your brother. You always knew that._

“Hey.” 

Felix turns as Claude joins him at the railing. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, voice warm. “You’ve been out here a while.” 

“Yeah. Just thinking.” 

Claude nods. “Anything you want to talk about?” 

Felix shakes his head, but then he ruins it by saying, “Am I...good? For you.” It’s clumsy and he’s not sure it conveys what he really wants to ask, but hopefully Claude will get it. 

Claude turns, taking Felix’s face in his hands. “Of course. You’re perfect.” 

That makes him scoff. “I’m not. Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not lying. You’re perfect for me.” Claude’s face is so open, honest, it’s almost painfully sweet. “And of course you’re good for me.” 

“Okay.” That helps. Felix tries a smile. “Okay.” _I think I love him_. It’s terrifying, but not unexpected. He wouldn’t have asked for Claude’s collar if he didn’t. It’s overwhelming to realize it, old worries stirring at the thought. But it’s still the truth. 

He can’t make himself say it, but he will, he thinks. He will, when he’s told Claude the truth of that awful night and the three days after it. Before he takes Claude’s collar. He’ll say it then, give over that least piece of himself to his man who has dragged him out of the cold of his own misery, thrown him into a land of sunlight and forced whatever latent flower lives inside of him to bloom. Even if the last one was trampled under boots, ground into blood-soaked mud.

For now, Felix leans in and kisses Claude, and Claude kisses him back, easy as anything. Then he turns and looks back out at the garden, at all the things that flourish in a land brutal and unforgiving and beautiful in a way Felix never expected. 

Claude stands beside him, silent, one hand resting low on Felix’s back, on the setting sun etched so lovingly into the silk of the robe. 

He thinks he understands the symbolism of it, now. The wyvern, something wild and untamed, always moving, always in flight. Powerful, strong, fierce. The ribbons that wind around it but do nothing to keep it shackled or hold it back. They adorn, they don’t control. They make it beautiful. They make it feel good. 

And the setting sun, a promise.


	14. war stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Felix tells Claude a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst incoming! Just to reiterate, I'm not a Dimitri-hater, but this is a CF-route story and predicated on a darker take on Dimitri's character. It's not a kind take, but I think it makes sense for what we see of him in canon in Crimson Flower, especially given he's allied with Rhea and how *she* is characterized in that route. Felix will get closure later, which is something I think his character doesn't really have with Dimitri in canon for non-AM routes. Claude's going to help with that, later. 
> 
> Just a reminder, too, that there IS a happier, Azure Moon ds-verse story out there where Dimitri is happy with Felix AND Claude, so if this you're in need of happier Dimitri content, it exists!
> 
> CW: non-sexual flogging, angst, references to sub!drop, references to previous emotional manipulation via submission and (consensual) sex, power dynamic abuse (nothing graphic).

Despite Felix’s insistence that he’s ready to tell Claude what happened with Dimitri, ready to take Claude’s collar, it doesn’t happen right away.

There’s the rest of his parents’ visit to deal with, of course, and then there’s the increasing communication between Claude and the Emperor of Fodlan regarding the peace treaty. He’s so close to hosting a diplomatic envoy from Enbarr that he can taste it, and things are looking promising that a mutually-beneficial treaty between Fodlan and Almyra is closer than ever before. Claude throws himself into getting enough work done that he can take a few days off -- he has a feeling he and Felix both might need them.

When it actually comes time to have the conversation, Claude thinks for a long time about where it should be. He considers everywhere from the oasis to the rooftop garden (too sunny, probably, no need to make Felix _more_ uncomfortable), to the training room to the room where Felix stayed when he’d first arrived. He’s since moved into the room off the royal suite intended for the king’s submissive, so Claude’s old room is empty again. Going back there seems regressive, though.

In the end, Claude decides to just find one of the numerous and sundry rooms in the sprawling palace that no one ever uses and go there. His choice is a room that’s intended as a shrine to the rain-god, and honestly, he’s surprised he hasn’t shown it to Felix before now. Its only window is a skylight, set high up in the ceiling, and there’s even a waterfall. It rains during the winter in Almyra, and people will wander in for a quiet moment, but it’s not typically busy during other times of the year. Claude arranges for it to be provisioned and that’s that.

“That was smart,” Hilda says around a needle, peering at something in her hand. Felix’s collar. It won’t be ready for tomorrow, but she’s making good progress -- having hand-dyed the leather so it’s a striking teal color, and the loop is made out of rose gold. “That’s the shrine with the waterfall thing, right?”

“Right.” Claude picks up the velvet collar, on which she’s affixed a danging amber the exact color of Felix’s eyes. Next to it is a matching velvet collar with a diamond. He glances over at her.

She shrugs. “I liked the idea. Felix and Mari can have matching ones. You know how I am about aesthetics.”

He smiles and leans down to press a kiss on her head. “I do.”

“You could take the velvet one if you think it’ll help, after he tells you what depressing shit went down with Dimitri,” Hilda continues. His wife has a remarkable ability to be both compassionate and brutally tactless in equal measure. “Honestly, I don’t know why he can’t just put it in the past and move on. You are both super into each other and it’s adorable, why dredge it all up when it’s over?”

“I think I should hear it,” says Claude, playing with one of her pigtails.

She turns and cocks her head up at him, gaze serious. “Do you really _want_ to?”

“No,” he says. “Of course not. But I need to. You’d do it for Marianne, right?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I would. Of course. I get it, I just know you’ll be upset hearing it and I don’t like things making you sad. It makes me want to axe something, but you can’t really do that with feelings.”

He smiles and tugs her pigtail. “I appreciate the thought. I’ll be fine, sweetheart. So will Felix. Don’t worry.”

“I know.” She tilts her face up for a kiss. “I do have to admit that I love how Felix and Marianne are friends. Like, who even saw _that_ coming? They went riding together when we were in that council meeting the other day. Precious, right?”

“Very.” He leans down and kisses her. “Thanks for making the collars, by the way.”

“It’s relaxing.” She goes back to her stitching. The collar has the Almyran script for _fox-cub_ on it, which she has written out for her on a scrap of paper.

“What’s a fox-cloud?” Claude asks her, straight-faced, tapping the script.

“Huh?” She gasps, then scowls. “You’re teasing me. Oooh! Khalid the Silver-Tongued, you’re a big meanie. More like, Khalid the Son of a -”

“You _like_ my mother, Queen Hilda, you sure you want to finish that sentence?”

“She’d forgive me,” she says, but she’s laughing. “Go away or you can finish this yourself and end up with it sewn to your shirt, probably.”

He sticks his tongue out at her in a very mature, kingly fashion, and pulls her pigtail again before he leaves her be.

Despite how he’s obviously trying to hide it, Felix is nervous that night; he fidgets when they’re having dinner, the sash of his robe wound tight around his fingers, amber gaze focused somewhere outside the windows. He barely interacts with anyone, and Claude’s not surprised when Felix asks him if he can sleep in his own room that night.

“That’s what it’s for,” Claude says, studying him. “As long as you’re sure that you’re not self-punishing or something by not sleeping with me.”

Normal Felix would say something like, _someone thinks highly of themselves_ and pair it with his little smirk and that one-hand-on-the-hip, haughty-noble-head-tilt... but all Claude gets is a gruff, “I’m sure,” and that’s trickier to navigate. “I’ll just keep you up. You and Hilda and Marianne.”

It’s a big bed, as is fitting for the king and his family. Felix typically sleeps like the dead. Hilda kicks like a tornado. Marianne sometimes talks in her sleep. Claude is used to it.

“I don’t mind,” Claude says. “But do what you need to do. It’s not like you don’t know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Felix’s lantern stays lit even after he closes his door, and Claude wonders if he should have said _no_ or pushed more to see if Felix really did want to sleep with him. Which is what he asks Hilda, later, when they’re taking a soak before bed. “What if I’m doing this wrong?”

“Then you do it right the next time,” she says. “It’s not like you’ve never fucked up with him before.”

Claude smiles despite himself. “I could have married someone who wasn’t so _honest_ , but _no_. I had to marry _you_.”

Hilda gives him an unimpressed look and splashes him in the face with warm water. “You need someone who’s honest so you don’t get lost in all the lies you spin,” she tells him, relentless. “I love you so much, I really do, but getting to know the real you means cutting through all your bullshit.”

“My queen, wielder of the axe of truth,” Claude mutters, sinking down into the water. “Is that what you really think about me?”

“That you’re better at bullshit than anyone in the actual world? Yes. I mean, it takes a fibber to know one, Claude. Oh, sorry. Khalid.”

“It’s not like I didn’t have reasons for lying about my name and who I was,” Claude reminds her.

“I know that, I didn’t say you didn’t. But it’s me, baby. Admit you do it sometimes just to see if you can get away with it.”

Claude’s slipped down so far that only his nose and his eyes are above the water line. He tilts his chin up enough to smile at her. “Guilty.”

“Right. I like that about you. I do! We’re kindred spirits. Both so smart, so hot.” She laughs. “You make me happy. And you’re a good king. I’d rather have a king who schemes his way to world peace, rather than five years of _war_.”

“You’re gonna have to get over that.” Claude is quiet for a moment, making patterns in the water with his fingers. “I don’t lie to you. You know that, right?”

“You better not. If you do, I’ll axe your head off.”

“Okay, Edel-”

“Finish that and I will _never_ blow you again,” Hilda threatens, but then she glides gracefully across the bath and perches in his lap. “I know. And in answer to your question, since we’re being honest, if you really want to make sure Felix is okay, just _ask_ him.” She runs her fingers through his hair. “You’re a dominant, not a mind-reader. He has to be able to tell you if he needs something.”

“I’m supposed to know,” Claude protests. “That’s the point of having a submissive. You know, and you take care of them.”

“Baby.” She takes his face in her small, calloused, deadly hands. “The first step in taking care of someone? Is _listening_ to them. Did he say he _should_ sleep alone, or he _wanted_ to? Did he look all big-eyed and sad?”

“This is _Felix_ we’re talking about, Hilda.”

“Right, right. So he looked...cranky and squinty? Or that weird vacant look he had on during dinner?”

Of course she noticed. Hilda is sort of an expert on reading people. They could have, in some other world, ran off and become excellent con artists. “He looked -- mostly how he always does. But I wouldn’t say it’s _squinty_ , that’s just how his eyes are.”

“But not vacant,” Hilda presses.

Claude thinks about it. “No, not really. More twitchy than vacant.”

“Great. So knock on the door, check on him and ask if he needs you to settle him or something. We have that one really soft flogger, where the tails are fur instead of leather? I use that on Mari sometimes, I bet that’d work.”

“Felix is a masochist,” he reminds her.

“Then put in some _work_ , King Khalid. Then once he’s all writhing around, stroke his back with the fur. Sensation play always settles Mari down enough to sleep. I used to do that all the time when we were at the monastery and I couldn’t stay with her. She’d drop sometimes after I left, so I’d make sure to get her good and tired and get all of that - that self-hate talk out of her head. Then I’d be sweet and make her feel good.”

That’s -- well, hot, he can’t help it, he loves watching Hilda with Marianne -- but it’s also good advice. He kisses her. “How’d you get all that self-hate talk out of her head?”

“Mari likes service. It makes her feel good, useful. But then she’d be all worried I was lying, or that I was only doing it to be nice -”

“You?”

“I _know_ , right? That’s what I said! But yeah, so, one time I spanked her with a hairbrush. Not like, mean or anything, obviously. Then once she stopped saying that stuff, I took this -- well, it’s like, a feather thing for putting on powder, not important, but it was real soft and I ran it over her skin and petted her hair. She fell asleep. It was sweet.” She raises an eyebrow at him and shifts in his lap. “Why is this getting you hard?”

“You and your gorgeous self are sitting naked in my lap talking about spanking your also gorgeous submissive with a hairbrush, I’m not _dead_ , Hilda.” He thinks about this. “Felix would hate being spanked with a hairbrush but he’d probably like the flogger. I’ll ask. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You’ll figure each other out. But it’s not, like, automatic. The dom-sub thing might be biology, but so is the ability to speak and you gotta learn languages to know what you’re saying, right?”

That’s…so true and very insightful. Claude kisses her. “Thanks, Queen Hilda the Wise.”

“Ugh. I still like _Queen Hilda the Delicate Perfumed Flower_ the best, but whatever. You’re welcome.” She pats him on the chest. “I do really like telling you what to do.”

Claude presses her hand to his heart. “I know.”

Claude finishes in the bath, then rummages around for the fur-flogger and goes to Felix’s door. There’s still light coming from underneath. “Felix?”

“I’m _fine_ , Claude.”

He casts his eyes upward. “Do you want me to, ah.” He doesn’t think _settle you down_ will go over well at all, and _tire you out_ and _help you sleep_ sound like he’s suggesting sex, which he isn’t. He opts for the less sexy, more honest approach. “Flog you with this flogger I’m holding so you can get a good night’s rest?”

A pause. And then. “Yeah, okay.”

The room intended for the king’s submissive is nice, with a huge wall of windows (and extra-heavy curtains, added by Claude) and a bed set low to the tiled floor, with netted canopy draping down around it from the ceiling. It’s piled with silks and pillows, and upon it reclines Felix, his hair down, dressed in loose sleep pants. He’s holding a book. Claude realizes as he moves closer that it’s his old primer. “Did I interrupt your...Fodlan lessons?”

“I was --” Felix blushes. “I thought I could maybe. If I’m going to live here --”

“You already do live here. This is your room.”

“Then I wanted to try and learn the language.” He glances at Claude, and his gaze goes immediately to the flogger. “Is that fur?”

“Yeah. And I’m glad you want to learn Almyran, but we can get you, you know. A better book. Or lessons, even. Marianne has had a few.”

“Hilda’s spoken in Almyran, I’ve heard her,” says Felix.

“Yeah, she’s fine with speaking it but she can’t write for shit.”

“You shouldn’t really talk,” Felix says, holding up the primer.

“I was seven, Felix. Give me that.” Claude holds his hand out, and Felix hands the book over. He sets it on the low table, then glances around. There are hooks for cuffs set into the wall, but he doesn’t want to restrain Felix at the moment -- but the bed might be too low to do this properly. Claude walks over and pulls the curtains on the windows. “Come here. Stand with your hands against the glass.”

Felix climbs gracefully out of bed, then, without even asking, pushes the sleep trousers off and pads naked over to the window. His hair is long enough that it just barely brushes beneath his shoulders. Claude parts it in the middle and pushes it so that Felix’s back is bare.

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” Claude says.

Felix bows his head. “I know why you’re doing it.”

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“That you didn’t just let me go to bed without checking in and trying to -- to fix me? Yeah, where would I have gotten that idea? You only do it all the time.”

Eyebrows raised, Claude says, “Is that a complaint?”

“No.” Felix doesn’t say anything else.

“Just, real quick -- I’m not trying to fix you, you’re not broken. I’m trying to take care of you, because you’re mine and I know you’re a little wound up. Get it?”

“Got it,” says Felix.

“Good.” Claude nods, then says, “This isn’t supposed to hurt, so, tell me on a scale of one to ten how it feels. We should be at a four, tonight, I think.” He swings the flogger, enjoying the sound it makes when the fur strips hit against Felix’s back.

Felix jumps, though it’s mostly from surprise. “That wasn’t even a one.”

His voice is full of challenge. Claude has to laugh. He makes the next swing a little harder, which gets him _maybe one_ , and then harder still, which makes Felix arch a bit and go up on his toes. He says _three_ , and Claude thinks that’s probably good to start and does it again.

“You’re supposed to like this,” he points out, swinging again.

“I -- do you have one of these. Without the fur,” Felix says, voice muffled since he’s speaking to the window.

“Yes. But I won’t need it.” He hits a little harder, and then does it a few more times in a row.

“It doesn’t -- it doesn’t _hurt_ ,” Felix says, and Claude can see his fingers scrabbling at the slick surface of the windows.

He looks so fucking beautiful. Naked, all that wild dark hair, lean pale body pressed up against the dark glass. The flogger isn’t intended to leave marks, but Felix is fair enough that his skin is a little red from it anyway. Claude’s cock gets hard, but he ignores it in favor of another swing. “That’s not why I’m doing this. You can feel it, yeah?”

“Yes, obviously,” growls his cranky, gorgeous, fighty Felix.

“Then it’s doing its job. Stay with me. Look outside. It’s a nice night.” He swings it again, the thud of the fur strips echoing. “You look beautiful. I’m never going to get over how your hair tangles that fast.”

Felix huffs something like a laugh. “This isn’t what I thought you’d do.”

“I have to keep some mystery in this relationship, or you might get bored,” says Claude, swinging again. “Also, you know this can be fun, right?”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to,” is Felix’s response.

Claude steps closer and swings the flogger again. “Is this frustrating? Or do you like it?”

“I -- both,” Felix says, arching up on his toes. “It’s both.” He sounds both confused and a little annoyed.

 _Taking care of someone means listening to them._ “Would you like it harder, or do you just think you need it harder?”

“Maybe could I have it harder, once. Just to see,” Felix asks, so sweetly and so _easily_ that Claude feels himself sliding into top space, starting to buzz with it.

“Say please, sweet thing, and I’ll do it.” He teases the edges of the fur flogger against Felix’s back, over the slightly reddened skin.

“Please,” Felix says, softly.

Claude draws it out for a few seconds, enjoying the anticipation; the way Felix’s fingers flex against the glass, the way he rocks back on his heels and shifts against the glass, the erection he can see beginning to thicken between Felix’s legs. He honestly doesn’t know if the flogger _can_ hurt, but Claude puts enough of an effort in so that the smack echoes a little louder, and Felix goes up on his toes and his shoulders flex, muscles tensing as he absorbs the pain.

“Well? Which did you like better?” Claude asks. Even he doesn’t know what Felix is going to say.

Felix is quiet for a few long seconds. “I. Right now, the first way.” He turns and looks over his shoulder. “But another time. The second.”

 _I like it to hurt, but not right now_ , is what Claude gets from this. Good. He still remembers forgetting on the roof to see to Felix’s hair, and for not noticing just how much he was struggling to kneel, how quickly he’d dropped. Claude has to do this right.

“Thanks,” Claude says. “For answering honestly.” He eases back and gives Felix a few more swings -- he knows from experience this feels good, like a back massage. “I taught Hilda how to use this. She pretended I was a naughty pirate and she was disciplining me. It was pretty hot.”

“I don’t know what I am supposed to say to that,” Felix manages, but Claude can see him relaxing beneath the steady thump of the flogger, his shoulders beginning to lower, the muscles in his calves relaxing as he goes back down on his heels and leans against the window. He’s going under, and low and behold, it’s because Claude is being _nice_ to him.

“Don’t say anything. Just enjoy.” Claude keeps going until his arm is tired and Felix is almost melting into the glass, his breath fogging up the window. He walks over and takes Felix by the shoulder, turning him. Felix blinks hazy amber eyes up at him, he looks like he’s _sleepy_ , and that feels like a win. “Let’s get you in bed, sweet thing.”

“I’m not sweet,” Felix grumbles, but he lets Claude take him to the bed and ease him on the silk sheets, naked on his stomach.

Claude gets his hair out of the way -- again -- and sits on the edge of the bed, then kisses down from the back of Felix’s neck all over the slightly reddened skin. He takes the flogger up again and brushes Felix’s back with the fur.

“Like that?” Claude asks.

Felix nods but says nothing, his face pressed into the pillow.

“Good. Think you’ll be able to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Felix mumbles. “I - yeah.”

“I don’t mind giving you pain if you need it. You look beautiful suffering for me, but that’s not always what it’s about.” He drags the fur up and down Felix’s back, watching Felix’s breathing go soft. “You’re so good for me. Always. See? That’s why I want you to wear my collar.”

“Ugh,” Felix says. “Just. Stop talking.”

Claude smiles a bit. “Better men than you have tried that one, Fraldarius.” That gets him an actual laugh, soft as a whisper against the silk pillow. The flogger really isn’t meant to leave marks and even though Felix is pale as snow, the few it did leave are already starting to fade. “You want a sheet or anything?”

Felix’s answer is a slight shake of his head. “Don’t -- what just happened?”

Claude leans in and kisses him, gently, on the side of his head. “I took care of you. You let me. And you _liked_ it. It doesn’t always have to hurt and it’s not always about sex. Okay?”

Felix doesn’t answer in words, but he does something that makes his hair shake so it’s probably a nod. Claude strokes his hands down Felix’s back and watches him for a moment, then gets up and draws the curtains, puts out the lantern, and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

***

Felix does look like he got at least some sleep, but he’s clearly not nearly close to being as relaxed as Claude left him the night before. He’s quiet as they make way through the palace toward the room Claude’s prepared.

“I thought maybe we could use some privacy,” Claude says, though Felix hasn’t asked where they’re going. “And we’ll have the royal suite to ourselves for a few nights. Hilda and Marianne are hanging out near the aviary, where Marianne nurses injured birds back to health and Hilda...watches her with a sappy look on her face.” Like Claude does with Felix in the training room, probably.

“You didn’t have to. It’s not that long of a story,” Felix says, as Claude nods toward the open door into the rain shrine. Felix blinks, looking around. The gentle waterfall is in the corner, and with the only window being the skylight, it’s relatively cool compared to the larger, sunnier rooms. There’s also a table with refreshments, a pillow for Felix on the floor with his submissive’s robe folded up neatly on top of it.

“Is this -- what room is this?” Felix asks. “Chamber for Uncomfortable Conversations with Your Submissive?”

Claude snorts. “A shrine for the rain spirits. Not very busy this time of year.”

Felix tilts his head up at the skylight. “Does it actually _rain_ here, ever?”

“Sure, during the rainy season.” Claude laughs. “The look on your face. I’ve never seen you look so excited, I don’t think.”

“I just didn’t know you had that here.” Felix’s eyes go wide. “You’re serious?”

“Yes! It’s what you frozen Faerghans call _winter_. It rains more in the forests up north -- I mean, it’s Almyran _pine_ tea, where do you think the pine trees are?”

“Not here?”

Claude laughs and draws him in for a kiss. “I’ll show you. Actually, I figured we could take a trip there, the whole family, in a month or so. There’s a royal hunting lodge. We don’t have to actually hunt, but you’ll like it. It’s much cooler.”

“Can’t we just. Move there,” Felix says, shoulders hunched. He looks bothered by something. Claude assumes it’s the impending conversation and doesn’t push. “You’re the king.”

“I know. It’s too cold for me. I like this weather. You’ll get used to it.”

“Never.” Felix wraps his arms around himself. “If no one uses this now, why’s this stuff in here?”

“Oh. I had it set up. I wanted someplace that wasn’t too hot, or busy, and I thought we should at least try and eat something and...what?” Claude can tell he’s worked up about something, in his own special, _Felix_ way. “What is it?”

“You didn’t have to do this.” Felix not only isn’t looking at him, he actively takes a step _back_. “I don’t need you to _coddle_ me.”

“I’m not coddling you,” Claude says, sighing. “I’m taking care of you. You’re my submissive. I know this is hard for you, so, I’m doing what I can to make it better.”

Felix gives a harsh laugh. “That’s -- you don’t have to do this. I know how you need to handle me, and it’s not...breakfast and a waterfall.”

“Oh, _you_ know, do you?” Claude snaps his fingers and points to the floor, voice heavy with his natural command as he says, “Kneel.”

It takes a few seconds, but then Felix drops to his knees.

Claude walks over and slides his fingers through Felix’s hair, tugging out the braid and looking down at his lovely, haughty, much-loved face. “Edelgard might have sent you here, but we both know the only person who can truly make a gift of you is...you. And you did, and I accepted, and we have been _over_ how I am fully able to handle you.”

“I told you,” Felix says, and his gaze is lowered, hands resting perfectly behind his back, but his voice is still fierce, combative. “I told you I fight.”

“And I win,” Claude says, stroking his impossible cheekbones, his jaw. “Now, strip so we can put that robe on you, then you can kneel on that pillow and I’ll feed you breakfast.”

“I--listen,” Felix says, to the floor. “I’m not hungry. It makes me sick to think about -- about what I’m going to tell you.”

“You don’t have to ever tell me,” Claude says, surprised to find it’s true. “If you don’t want to.”

“I --” Felix shakes his head. “Don’t give me that out. Please.”

“You want to tell me,” Claude says, patient, feeling the edges of it all coming together in that way he lives for, the clear picture emerging from the puzzle. “But you want me to make you tell me.”

“Yes,” Felix whispers.

Triumph is a low burn in his blood, because damn, does Claude like being right. “That’s what I’m doing. So, sweet thing, get up, strip, put that robe on because it’s for the king’s submissive and I am the...what am I?”

“The king,” says Felix, softly.

“And what are you?”

“Yours,” says Felix, in that same quiet voice. His shoulders do seem to relax a fraction when he says it. It’s something.

“My, what?”

“Your submissive,” Felix says. He swallows hard, then when Claude takes his hand away, Felix gets gracefully to his feet and starts to strip without further comment.

Claude takes the robe, waits for Felix to turn to him with his usual sharp expression, and then slips it on and ties it. “Kneel for me.”

Felix does make a pretty picture, swathed in the gold submissive’s robe with his hair an ink spill over his shoulders. He makes the usual huffy sounds when Claude pets him and says he’s sweet, but he eats the wyvernfruit and drinks the cold ice water and even takes a few bites of meat, though he turns his head and gives a slight shake so Claude goes back to the fruit and the flatbread.

He’s not that hungry, either, if he’s being honest.

While he feeds Felix, he tells him about the hunting lodge in Almyra and the rainy seasons and how Claude’s ancestor, King Sakhamanah, earned his sobriquet of _Stormbringer_. “Everyone thought it was because he was loud, and he probably was because my family can _bellow_ , but it was really because of his favorite wyvern. Legend says she was afraid of the storms, so Sakhamanah would fly her into the storms and when it thundered, he’d just give this war-cry to show the wyvern he wasn’t afraid. Then his wyvern started shrieking at the thunder, too, so the king showed up in battle if it was raining like some kind of sky god, as if he were the thunder itself. Cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” That gets a small smile out of Felix. “Does your wyvern scream at thunder?”

“No, and I loved that story as a kid so I tried to do it but, uh.” Claude chuckles sheepishly. “She tossed me and I fell into a pond. She likes to roll around in mud after it rains, though.”

Felix shakes his head and opens his mouth for more fruit. “We really never learned anything about Almyra. Not about that stuff. Stories, myths and legends.”

“We have about six thousand different stories for everything, wait until I start in on the weird sex ones.”

Felix’s mouth quirks. “Something to look forward to.”

Charmed, Claude rubs his fingers over Felix’s mouth and laughs. “We’ll write a few of our own. I’m pretty sure we already have.”

Felix tilts his head up, gone serious again, his bright eyes searching Claude’s. “I didn’t mean to insult you, before. You did all this and I thought it was because you thought I was weak, but it makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”

“First, you’re a lot of things, Felix, but weak isn’t one of them.” Claude tips his face up. “And second, yes, it did make me feel better. Good catch.”

“Why did you feel bad?” Felix asks.

Claude thinks a moment before he can answer. “I don’t like to think that you trusted someone to take care of you and they hurt you in all the ways you didn’t want.”

Felix looks briefly startled, then blinks -- a few times in a row. He takes a shuddery breath, and his eyes are overbright. “Oh,” he says, softly. “I - oh.” He turns his face into Claude’s hand, a rare and precious moment of not just submission, but need. Surrender. “There’s something you should know. Before I tell you this.”

“Sure.” Claude pets him, watches Felix get himself settled. When he raises his gaze to Claude’s, his eyelashes are wet but his cheeks are dry.

“I used to hate this. Being what I am. A submissive. I thought it meant...I don’t know what I thought it meant, but I never knew it could be like this. I don’t hate it anymore, or at least I’m getting better and that’s… a lot. For me. So, thank you.”

Touched, Claude leans down and kisses him. “Thank you for trusting me, Fox-cub.”

“That name is okay when your dad uses it,” Felix says, against Claude’s mouth. “It’s weird when you do because I’m pretty sure I’m actually older than you are.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Claude kisses him one more time and leans back. “Whenever you’re ready. Tell me this story however you want, by the way. You don’t need to ask for anything, okay?”

“Okay.” Felix takes a deep breath, then gets to his feet, pacing like a restless cat while he talks.

“So, I’m not you and I’m not good at stories. And I don’t want to drag this out. You know about Duscur, about Dimitri’s family and how they were massacred?”

Claude nods. “Yeah.” He’d heard about it as a child, actually. It had sickened him, even then.

“Right. Well, I -- loved Dimitri my whole life. At first I thought it was the same way I loved my brother, Glenn -- he died at Duscur, too, he was a knight -- and Sylvain, and Ingrid.” A pang in Felix’s voice, as he says her name. She hadn’t survived Merceus. “But I knew when I was older that it was more than that, even if I didn’t really get it. I used to light up when we went to Fhirdiad, just at the sight of him. I cried every time we left.” Felix takes a second, breathing in, glancing at where Claude is sprawled listening in his chair, deceptively relaxed. “I was kind of like that as a kid. Prone to tears. He never made fun of me, for it. Dimitri was...just like a prince is supposed to be. I -- it wasn’t that I thought he hung the moon, I thought he was the _sun_. It was embarrassing but it felt like dying every time we went back to Fraldarius.”

Claude has to smile a little at the thought of it, love-sick Felix sobbing dejectedly in the back of a carriage. “That’s sweet.”

Felix makes a face. “Tch. I always knew that my brother would be the Duke and I would be Dimitri’s. His submissive, his retainer, whatever -- just his. But then Duscur happened, and I...you have to know that it was never. Never the same. Not after that. I don’t really want to get into it but Dimitri didn’t come back from Duscur. They made him watch when they took King Lambert’s head and I...I think it took Dimitri’s heart along with it.”

Claude wonders if Felix knows what happened, how Dimitri fell to Edelgard’s axe in the rain at Fhirdiad. He’s suddenly very glad Felix wasn’t there to see it.

“The point is that we all changed. Sylvain -- he had other issues, with his family, his brother. But Ingrid went into this fantasy that if she was just a perfect knight and upheld Glenn’s honor she wouldn’t have to be miserable that she’d lost him. I don’t know, it never made sense to me and I’m not good with my own feelings, so. But Dimitri broke, I think, just enough to know that he needed to pretend like he hadn’t.”

Felix’s clever, swordsman’s fingers twist up the sash of his robe as he talks, winding it like a binding rope around his wrist, the silk sliding over his moon-pale skin. He’s drifted toward the waterfall, as if perhaps the sound is calming.

“When I was fifteen, I went with him to quell this rebellion in Western Faerghus. I don’t know how knighthood works here, but I was just a squire. I didn’t want to go, but my father insisted. He hated that I didn’t understand the _honor_ of Glenn’s death. That I didn’t see it as noble, when I -- especially me, since I’m a submissive and always was intended for the Crown -- was supposed to want nothing more than to _serve_.”

Felix reaches out toward the water, then pauses and glances at Claude. “Is it -- if I touch this, do the rain spirits punish us by making it stay hot?”

Claude is charmed by Felix saying _us_. “Nah, you can touch it. But I should tell you that it doesn’t actually get that cold when it rains, it’s still warm. Just...wet.”

“Great.” Felix dips his fingers in the water. “I went because at fifteen I couldn’t fight a direct command from my father, the duke. And I did want to see Dimitri.” His mouth twists. “I thought all that blankness, the coldness, maybe it would be gone. Maybe he’d be like he was, before. I got my hopes up.”

“Understandable,” says Claude. “You were young. In love. You knew he was hurting and you wanted to be with him.”

“You make it sound better.” He glances over at Claude, fingers dragging in the cool water of the shrine.

Claude points to himself. “Silver-Tongued, remember.”

If the conversation was less weighty, Felix might have smiled. As is, he just makes his huff of a reserved laugh and keeps talking. “Dimitri seemed all right, at first. He fooled me. I remember when we met up with the royal army and he smiled at me and sounded so - so happy to see me.” Vitriol tinges Felix’s words. “I believed it. Stupid.”

“You were fifteen, yeah? Be a little kinder to teenage Felix.”

Felix doesn’t look inclined to do such a thing. “That lasted until the battle. It was the kind of rebellion Rhea would send us to put down at school. These -- these wretches, practically peasants with pitchforks against the kingdom’s best. I don’t even really know the circumstances of why we were there, even now. I suspected, later, that there really was no reason. That they just needed to give Dimitri some outlet for his rage.”

Felix drags in a breath, then goes back to pacing and playing with the robe sash some more, making the bells jingle softly. “As a squire I was supposed to carry bedrolls, fix equipment, unpack tents, that sort of thing. But even though I already hated the whole idea of knighthood I wanted to keep an eye on Dimitri. And that’s when I saw him kill. I’ve been through war and I’ve seen my fair share of death, I’ve killed people and I’ve done it quick and clean and messy and everything in between, but I’ll never forget watching Dimitri do it. On this piss-poor excuse for a battlefield that was just some poor farmer’s land that we trampled and filled with corpses so it became nothing but a graveyard.

“Dimitri killed these woefully untrained soldiers and he - he _laughed_. I watched him impale one with his spear, but -- slowly, like you -- like you’d do if you wanted them to die in agony. The man was screaming. Pleading for his life. Sobbing and begging and Dimitri just...didn’t stop. Moved on to the next. It was this beautiful day, and I watched my future king slaughter almost an entire battalion. No one stopped him. I was bloodied that day out of surprise more than anything -- I was so horrified watching Dimitri that I almost missed some enemy soldier coming at me with a rusty sword.”

Claude nods. “I threw up for two hours after the first time I had to kill someone.”

“Me, too. I threw up and cried and dry-heaved and that’s when Dimitri found me. Smiling, covered in blood and mud, breathing too fast. Eyes shining. The first time I’d seen him look happy since before Duscur. That’s when I knew. _This_ was what Duscur had done to him. This was my future king. The boy I’d loved was as dead as my brother.

“When I left I didn’t see Dimitri for two years. Not until we started at Garreg Mach. I took one look at him and knew it was an act. Everyone else bought it, but not me. I’d seen him kill. I’d seen him _revel_ in it. And I think I would have hated him less if he’d just...been like that, been honest about it. Instead he tried to make me think that he was my - my Dimitri, again. And I hated him _so much_ , I -- I didn’t know I could feel that way about someone I’d loved, like I loved him.”

“Well,” Claude says, his heart aching for Felix and how that must have felt. “Hate is just love without the kindness, I think. If you didn’t love him, you wouldn’t have cared.”

“I guess. All I know is, no one would believe me and I _tried_ to tell them. I was so angry at school, all the time, and you know why? It’s because I couldn’t get any of them to listen. Ingrid just wanted to pretend, Sylvain decided to hate all the wrong things and I was the one who stood there shouting about how Dimitri became a monster and _no one believed me_. They didn’t want to hear about that rebellion. They said I was just _difficult_.”

“I see why you wanted to transfer.” Claude feels a bit guilty that he’d never thought much about Dimitri _or_ Felix at school; he’d chalked their enmity up to either a break up or longing or some political Faerghus bullshit. He’d had no idea what was at the heart of it. But if Felix’s closest friends hadn’t known, how could Claude?

“I should have done it the first week. I thought about it. I would have dreams about showing up and joining another class and never having to see him pretending to be -- to be something he wasn’t. But I was an idiot. I wanted him to be the prince he was pretending to be, not the boar I knew he really was. But it never happened, and then we were sent to fight and I saw it there and I thought, okay, fine, maybe they’ll believe me _now_ but no one did. They never did.”

Felix shakes his head. “Then Edelgard became the Flame Emperor, the Church took up residence in Faerghus and everyone saw. They saw how Dimitri was when he fought, how he tore through her soldiers like they were personally responsible for Duscur. And the Church, Rhea, she just...encouraged it. Told him how he was some holy warrior, how the Goddess Herself wanted him to take Edelgard’s head. Gave all that pent-up rage and bloodlust a _purpose_.” Felix spat the word, his lovely features twisted in disgust.

“And you know what happened after that, how I was fed up and went home to take care of my father’s house, of our people. I fought the Empire when it came to our doorstep. I gave aid to Sylvain when it came to his. We heard when Mercedes defected to the Empire because of her brother. I told you that I wouldn’t go to Arianhrod, when my father demanded I come with the Fraldarius battalion. I gave my soldiers the choice. Some of them went, most of them stayed. It was, I think, the only thing that didn’t land me in shackles.”

Claude finds the pitcher of wyvern-fruit water and pours some in the goblet he’d been using for breakfast. “Here,” he says, offering some to Felix, mostly because he thinks Felix might need a minute.

Felix takes the water. His hand is shaking, but he drinks the water and hands back to goblet with a nod of thanks. “Anyway, this is all pointless to rehash because you know how it ends. The part I need to tell you… I went Fhirdiad. It was a few weeks before it burned, but I just thought I could maybe. Make him see reason.”

Felix stares down at the floor. “I don’t -- I don’t even know how to tell you this. The other stuff, I had it all straight in my head, how to say it. About Dimitri’s bloodlust, how he wasn’t the same person I knew. But this part, I...just. Don’t know.”

“It’s okay,” Claude says. “Is there something I can do to make it easier?”

“No.” Felix draws in a breath. “I was sent a letter in Fraldarius. If I didn’t show myself to the king, my title and lands would be stripped and my people, the soldiers under my command, would be sent to the front lines. Fraldarius would be defenseless. Fraldarius is a seaside town. It’s full of stubborn people, mostly fishermen, some shipping. They’re not soldiers, they just wanted to survive. My father was dead. Taking the battalion would cripple our defenses. I had no other choice. I went to Fhirdiad.

“When I got there, Dimitri was...furious. He had me on my knees in seconds, and not like - like you did. He was crazy. Ranting about Edelgard and Duscur and I couldn’t convince him that it was madness, how could Edelgard have been responsible? Dimitri was talking about Rhea like she was the Goddess herself and he had a duty to do as she commanded. I don’t -- I don’t even know how much of it was true. All I knew was, he looked like the boar I’d seen in that rebellion. And I thought about school, Rhea making _examples_ of Lonato and those who went against the Church. I kept trying to tell him that this war wasn’t about Rhea and Duscur it was about _now_. The people who were alive _now_. But he didn’t -- he didn’t care.”

Claude’s throat feels tight. Even now, he can hear the disappointment in Felix’s voice. He might say he went to Fhirdiad because he had no choice, but he’d wanted to convince Dimitri. He’d wanted to save his friend, the man he’d once loved, from a descent into darkness and death. “Felix, I’m -”

“No! Don’t say it. Don’t be sorry. He had a thousand chances to stop it. He could have parlayed with Edelgard. Mercedes had defected to be with her brother, and Dimitri knew Sylvain was in contact with her. Edelgard wanted Rhea, she didn’t care about anything else. _Rhea_ burned Fhirdiad and Dimitri let her, and I can’t -- forgive him for that. So don’t be sorry. He could have stopped it. He _should_ have. A king saves his people. He doesn’t let them die to serve his own ghosts. Anyway, that’s...not the point. The point is I went to him, I knelt for him, and I - I _begged him_. I swore I’d do whatever he wanted, and I --”

Claude his to grip the sides of his chair. He knows how proud Felix is, how it must have hurt him to ask Dimitri for anything. But he stays quiet, his own breathing quick and light, his heart racing at knowing the truth of it, the worst of it, is about to come out.

“I told him I loved him. It wasn’t a lie. I said I’d be his, I’d submit, I’d take his collar.” Felix glances at him. “I wasn’t lying about that, either. I said he’d thrown his life away on the dead for too long and if he - if he didn’t stop, if he kept going, all he was ever going to have were more ghosts.”

Felix rakes a hand through his hair and stares up at the ceiling; it’s the longest moment he’s taken yet, and Claude fights his natural urge to take Felix, make him kneel, settle him. He can’t, but he wants to. So much. “I know you weren’t lying.”

Felix glances at him, and that does seem to help, for him to hear that. “He told me to show him that I meant it. That I was loyal. So he -- had me strip. He -- he fucked my throat. He fucked _me_. And I don’t want you to think that it was force, because it wasn’t. I wanted it. I liked it. For this - this horrible moment I thought...I thought it was going to be okay. That I would be good enough, I would submit like he needed, it would all be okay.” He smiles, cold and brittle. “I was so stupid. So stupid.”

“You cared. You loved him. You were trying.”

“Maybe. But it was still stupid.” Felix rakes his hands through his hair again, hard.

“Stop that,” Claude says, sharply, despite himself. “I -- don’t hurt yourself while you’re telling me this. If you need it, I’ll do it. But it hurt you enough.”

Felix drops his hands and just _stares_ at Claude. Claude sees him fight it, the urge, but eventually he goes back to twisting the robe sash like shackles around his wrists. Claude sighs. “If you need restraints I’ll put you in them. Come pull _my_ hair if you need to. I’m serious, you’re not tearing yourself apart, you did nothing wrong.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. After we -- after that, he was so kind. He stroked my hair. Kissed me. Told me he’d missed me. That he wanted me by his side. And then, once he had me under, he changed. Told me to get out of the bed -- and it was freezing, so cold, he didn’t even have a fire lit -- and stand there, naked. I’ll never forget it. He was lying there, naked, staring at me. Watching me shiver. Then he said - _now, Felix, kneel and tell me you’re sorry, and we won’t mention it again._ And I asked him, sorry for what? And he said, _all of that you said before, about how I’m fighting a useless war. You’re wrong._ So I told him no, I wasn’t wrong, that he couldn’t stand up against Edelgard, he no longer had the numbers or the support. He was just going to get us all killed. But he was -- relentless. He just kept staring. I watched him go away, somewhere. And I knew I’d fucked up. That it would never matter. I should have left. But I didn’t. I didn’t.”

His voice falls, to a harsh whisper. Claude is both horrified on his behalf and angry at Dimitri, though he’s sure it was a lifetime of trauma gone unchecked, glorified by a culture that loved war and idealized last stands where valiant loyal knights lay slain and gutted on the battlefield.

“I knelt. And I begged him, again, not to make me lie. I told him that even if he - he had me killed in the morning for treason, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend it was okay. I couldn’t do it when Dimitri was eighteen and pretending to be a prince, and I couldn’t do it now when I knew he’d lost his goddamn mind. I said I’d stay. I cried. I fucking _cried_ for him. I didn’t even cry for my own brother. But all I could think was, this was it. The one person I might -- might --”

“Be able to save,” Claude offers, his heart aching. It had, of course, been too late for Dimitri.

“I did it, Claude. I knelt and I told him I was wrong. He made me kneel there for hours. I was so cold, inside and out. He made me say it over and over. He didn’t care that I could barely talk, that I was shivering, that I was -- fucking _sobbing_. He just wanted to hear he was doing the right thing, even if it was a lie.”

_Don’t make me lie to you and tell you everything’s okay when it’s not._

“I thought maybe it was enough. He told me to get dressed, and I did. He told me he’d expect me and my army in Fhirdiad in a week’s time, that he was glad I’d proven myself and that I wasn’t a coward. That I would die with honor like my father and brother. He knew we were all fucking doomed and he didn’t care. Then he kissed me on the forehead and shut the door and left me there, in the hall.”

Claude grabs the goblet and drinks, mostly for something to do. And so he doesn’t say something wrong, because for once, his silver tongue feels like deadweight in his mouth.

“I just stood there, staring at the door. I’d gone to him, he’d taken my body, my submission, made me lie and then told me how happy he was I was going to die on his behalf. I went back to my room, got myself together, and I rode for Fraldarius that night. I told myself that I’d tried, but when I was halfway back I dropped. Hard. And I … didn’t want to do anything but sit there in the cold, under a tree. Fucking crazy, I know.”

“It, uh. It happens.” Claude puts the goblet on the table, picks it up again. Puts it down. He finally gives up and stands up, needing to do something to ease the restlessness.

“I didn’t, obviously, it’s hard to ignore the survival instinct after that much time fighting, so I rode back to Fraldarius. And I wrote a letter to Edelgard, and I sent a scout with a white flag and had him give the letter to an Imperial general. In it, I said I would surrender Fraldarius and I wouldn’t fight at Fhirdiad, as long as she promised not to hold it against my soldiers or the people there. A few days later, I got a response in which she accepted my terms. So when it came time to ride, I didn’t go. I stayed in Fraldarius, staring at the sea, and I kept imagining...every second, I imagined it was the moment it ended. I wanted it to be over with. I knew there was no way I would be all right, but I just wanted it to be over.

“Either the Kingdom would fall and I was a traitor, or Dimitri would pull out some victory against the overwhelming odds and I was still a traitor. But I couldn’t watch him die, and I couldn’t fight for a king who would throw the lives of his people away to...what? Make a point? All he had to do was surrender. Dimitri wasn’t even _religious_ , he didn’t care about the Church. He just wanted some cause to die for. He’s wanted it since Duscur. And he got it. In the rain, at the end of Edelgard’s axe. I heard and I locked myself in my room and I waited to -- to cry, to feel guilty, to feel something. Anything. But there was nothing. I’d given him everything I had when I tried to make him stop the war. I had nothing left to give. Nothing.”

This is the most Claude’s ever heard Felix talk at one time. It’s pouring out of him, like the water from the shrine, so he doesn’t stop him.

“Edelgard’s people rode in, and they made good on their promise. They assured me and everyone else that they weren’t here to conquer, they were here to help. They gave veterans pay to the soldiers who fought _against_ them. They asked for opinions on what Fraldarius needed. They acted like -- like bureaucrats, not a conquering army. They rebuilt the harbor. Meanwhile, the - the archbishop set Fhirdiad on fire and its king threw his soldiers to the flames to burn like kindling.”

Felix is breathing a little too fast, his eyes bright but still dry. “I lost him in Duscur. I should have just let him go.”

Claude makes his way over, carefully, to where Felix is standing near the waterfall. “You told me the first day you came here that you’re a fighter. Don’t be surprised that you fought for him.”

“I thought I didn’t fight hard _enough_ ,” says Felix. “That if I’d just held out, forced him to listen, not lied --”

“Do you honestly think you could have?”

“No. Not now. I used to think I was just bad at being a submissive, then I thought if I wasn’t one I could have made him -- made him save himself, and -- fuck,” Felix whispers, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t decide what I did wrong. If I should have tried harder to lie, or if I should have tried harder _not_ to.”

“You did more than anyone could ever expect,” Claude says, softly. “That kind of loyalty is astounding to me.”

Felix nods. “Marianne said something to me, the other night. About maybe he didn’t deserve it, and she’s right. He didn’t. I guess I didn’t really get that until I met someone who did.”

“Ah,” says Claude, ducking his head. “It’s nice of you to say that. But the person who deserved better was _you_ , Felix.”

Felix stares at him for a long moment. “I know. I do. I wish I had known you, in school.”

“No one knew me, not then,” Claude says. He reaches out, carefully. “May I touch you?”

Felix nods, so Claude runs a hand over his shoulder. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I wasn’t lying. That sort of loyalty leaves me breathless.”

“That sort of loyalty is stupid. I should know when to give up. I just never do.”

“You keep saying this like any of it is your fault. It isn’t.” Claude draws him close and kisses him. “My own father called me a coward for surrendering at Derdriu. And yeah, I wanted to save who I could but I wanted to save my own dreams, my own ambitions, more. So I know something of that.”

“Your dreams, ambitions...they were for peace. I remember you at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. You won that award for saving the most people _and_ that feast was your idea. How none of us knew you were a king, I’ll never understand.”

“I didn’t let any of you know. I’m a liar and a sneak and I would have killed Edelgard if I could. I do want peace, but I was willing to kill to get it. And I have. Don’t make me something I’m not,” Claude says, tipping his face up.

“Believe me. I know what you are. You’re a _king_ , Claude -- Khalid. And you’re the only one I ever want to kneel for again.”

And then, with a soft sigh, he does.

Claude follows him down, then leans in and kisses him. “Thank you. For that, and for trusting me to hear your story.”

Felix says something, soft and hesitant, and it takes Claude’s brain half a second to parse what he’s hearing -- that Felix just spoke to him in Almyran, and what he said was, _I love you._

Claude takes Felix’s face in his unsteady hands, presses his forehead against Felix’s, and says it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hurt, and next up, the comfort ;)


	15. blindfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: flogging, caning 
> 
> This is probably a given considering how fantasy!kink based this story is, but please don't use this as a how-to manual.

Felix feels empty. 

And not in the bad way, the way he did when he rode away from Fhirdiad. He’d been aching and miserable, suffocating under the memory of Dimitri’s hands on him, the hours kneeling on the cold floor. Shivering and lying through his teeth, even though he’d hated himself for it the whole time. 

Now it’s just this, the quiet empty of his head as he kneels on the ground for Claude. Khalid. His dominant and his _king_. And this time he isn’t shivering in misery, desperate to be _good enough_ because he already is. He is. And maybe he won’t always believe it, but right now, he does. And that seems like not just a battle won, but the war. 

Claude is still kissing him, murmuring in Almyran, words Felix doesn’t know but sort of understands. He’s never going to forget the way Claude looked when Felix told him about that night; the way he kept almost half-rising out of his chair, fingers flexing, how he looked so upset on Felix’s behalf. 

“Is, ah. There more?” Claude asks, after a moment. His hair is messy and his eyes are too bright, soft green like grass in springtime or new flowers. He keeps touching Felix’s face and smiling at him. No one has ever smiled at Felix this much except maybe Annette. 

With a pang, he realizes he should maybe write to her. He’s been so caught up in his own head, and Annette has always been a friend. “No, just...is it all right if I write to some people? I should probably do that. Sylvain. And Annette. Ashe, if I can figure out where he is.” He sighs. “Edelgard. She was...good to me. She listened and kept her word with Fraldarius and my soldiers, even if we fought on different sides.” 

“Well, that last one, maybe wait on it because I think she’s going to visit soon. But of course, the others. You’re welcome to invite them for a visit, too. I want people to come here. That’s the whole point of a peace treaty.” 

“Uh. One thing at a time,” says Felix. He doesn’t mind kneeling, but he can feel that Claude seems a bit restless. “Are _you_ okay? I get to. Take care of you, too.” 

“You do, yeah. And I....” Claude takes his face in both hands. “I hate that someone hurt you. And I’m not entirely used to feeling this possessive about someone, I guess.” Claude kisses him, and it’s a little rougher than usual, and Felix leans eagerly into it. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I want you to put me under.” He nips at Claude’s lower lip. “Want it so bad.” 

“You’re being really hot right now, but I have to -- mm.” Claude kisses him, and it’s growing more heated, his hands a bit rougher as they wander through Felix’s hair, slip beneath the robe to stroke skin. “Make sure you’re okay.” 

“Yeah.” Felix sways forward, and maybe for the first time, he feels a sense of his own power -- the kind a submissive has, when it’s right. He examines it, feels it out as Claude kisses down his neck. “I am. Want your collar. Want to be yours.” 

Felix _loves_ the sound Claude makes when he says that, the way Claude growls into his mouth and pushes urgent hands under the robe and over his skin. “You already are mine. But I want that, too.” Claude pulls back and says, “But right now I think we should take this back to the bedroom. 

Felix nearly pitches forward as Claude, possessed of his usual manic energy, hops to his feet and reaches a hand down to help him up. 

“Should I….?” He motions to his clothes, lying over on the ground near the pillow. 

Claude glances over and shrugs. “I’ll send someone for your clothes, don’t worry about it.” He reaches out and takes Felix’s hand, tugging him toward the door, and he doesn’t let go as they walk, either. 

Felix feels a little silly holding hands with the _King of Almyra_ , but it seems to be settling Claude, who is still possessed of that restless energy that Felix finally understands is Claude needing to put him under. “Hey.” He tugs on his hand. 

Claude glances over at him. “Yeah?” 

“Can I -- ask for something? When you put me under.” 

“Of course,” says Claude, as they make it to the hallway with the royal residences. A few servants pass them, and Felix feels his ears go red but they just sort of smile at the sight of their king holding hands with a messy-haired submissive in a gold silk robe. 

It takes Felix until they’re in the room and the door is shut before he can answer. He pulls the sash from the robe and hands it to Claude. “Use this.” 

“You want me to tie your wrists?” Claude asks, taking it from him. He twines the silk in his hands, which makes the tiny bells interwoven in the fabric jingle softly. “I have better restraints, if that’s what you want.” 

“No,” Felix says, inhaling softly. “Not -- not my wrists. I want you to. Um. Blindfold me.” 

Claude’s eyebrows go up. “I thought that was a hard limit for you, the blindfold?” 

Usually it is. Felix wants to see what’s coming, wants to be able to anticipate it and prepare, hates the thought of anything getting the best of him or taking him by surprise. It’s one reason he’s always preferred to fight on foot; the singular focus of battle, the narrowed-vision of close combat. It makes things simpler that way. It gives him control. 

But he doesn’t want that right now. He wants, for the first time, to be truly under; not for Claude to take something, but for Felix to _give_. He wants this to be the moment he submits, truly and without reservations. And this is the one thing he thinks he can do to show that. 

“It was,” says Felix. “Before you.” 

“Felix,” Claude says, and smiles. “You really are something. Of course. If that’s what you want. What else do you need?” 

He thinks about that for a minute. “Do you have. A flogger that isn’t so nice, as the one you used last night?” Felix flushes. “I liked it, I did, but I….” 

“You don’t need nice right now. I know.” Claude’s bright eyes flash at him, his smile so happy Felix can’t quite believe it’s for him. He holds up the blindfold. “If you change your mind, tell me and I’ll take it off. All right?” 

“Yeah, okay.” Felix isn’t going to change his mind. He trusts Claude more than he’s ever trusted anyone in his life. He reaches out for him, tugs him close. Presses his face into the soft material of Claude’s shirt, breathes in his scent. “I need you to make it hurt. That’s what I want. Get me out of my head. Don’t let me go back to what it felt like when I was wrong.” 

“Never,” Claude says, running a hand down Felix’s back. “You’re safe with me.” 

“I know.” Felix pulls back, gives Claude a very serious look. “It isn’t that I feel bad or like I need to suffer. I just want out of my head.” 

“It’s okay. I know what you need.” Claude tips his chin up, smiles that sweet, sexy, smug little smile that makes Felix want to fall on his knees and promise him anything. “I’ll give it to you. You’re so good for me. So sweet.” He rubs a thumb over Felix’s lower lip. “I can’t wait to see you in my collar.” 

Felix’s breath escapes on a shuddery little sigh. “Yeah. I -- me, too.” He bites at Claude’s thumb, sucks on it. Things feel better between them than he might have thought, given the heaviness of their conversation. The relief of having told Claude what happened is vast, though there is still some strange knot of tension that makes him want pain, to sink under it, have it drag him under like a tide. 

Claude takes him into the room where Felix slept last night, the submissive’s room -- his room, he supposes -- which is set up for play with hooks for cuffs on the far wall, on the ceiling, even on the bed. He takes off Felix’s robe, sets it aside and puts soft cuffs on his wrists before affixing them to the wall. 

“I would keep my hands where you told me to,” Felix huffs, a little annoyed at the thought he won’t follow instructions. 

“I know. You’re very good at honor bondage, but I want you to be able to think about the pain, not keeping still. And I also like the idea of watching you writhe around. Oh.” Claude pulls his hair, making Felix hiss. “Also? Stop trying to top from the bottom, brat.” 

Despite the weight of the day’s conversation and his desire to get out of his own head, Felix smiles at that. “You like it.” 

“I do. And I’m going to like watching you pull on those cuffs and writhe around, too.” Claude ties Felix’s hair up in a messy topknot, muttering _seriously why does it go so many directions at once, how does it even do that_ and then giving him a sharp smack on the ass. “I have two floggers to use, one is leather and the second is...intense. It’s made from metal chains. I also have a cane. We’ll go until you tell me to stop, or when I decide you’ve had enough, whichever comes first.” 

“It won’t be me,” Felix says, brashly, pulling on the cuffs. The restraints are...nice. Exciting. He likes it, he realizes. Being cuffed to the wall for Claude. 

“I’m going to put this blindfold on, now,” Claude says. “You still all right with that?” 

“Yes,” Felix says, though he can’t quell the flutter of nerves. 

“I’ll take it off anytime, if it’s too much or you hate it. It’s not a weakness if you --” 

“Claude,” Felix interrupts. He’s starting to get antsy, eager and wanting. “Please.” It’s a lot more gracious than _get on with it_. 

“Okay. Okay.” Claude presses a kiss to the back of Felix’s neck. “I love when you’re like this, so eager for me.” He slips the silk robe tie over Felix’s head, doubling it up so he can tie it. It’s not easy and he has to re-do it twice, muttering about Felix’s impossible hair until he gets it firmly in plac

Felix can’t help it; he goes tense immediately at having his vision taken away, and if even he can tell that his breathing is all fucked up, he’s _sure_ Claude will be able to tell, too. 

Claude puts a warm hand on Felix’s bare back. “I need you to tell me that this is all right, Felix, or I’m taking it off.” 

“It -- it’s all right,” Felix manages. This was a limit for a reason, but it’s one he wants to push past. He drags in a shaky breath. “Last night you said. That it didn’t always have to hurt.” 

“That’s right.” Claude’s voice is so warm, his hand soothing as it rubs down Felix’s back, but it’s all wrong for what Felix needs, right now. 

“Today, I need it to.” Felix swallows, hard. “I need it to hurt. I need to not be in control.” He flexes his fingers in the cuffs. How many times did he wake up in his tent during the war, from nightmares that something happened to his hands, his eyes? What was a swordsman without those things? 

And what was Felix, if he wasn’t a swordsman? A weapon? 

“Please,” he whispers, eyes already pricking with hot tears. 

“Okay.” Claude’s mouth presses against the back of Felix’s neck, again. “Hey. I love you. I’ve got you. Promise.” 

“Yeah, you do, just -- get on with it.” 

Felix can feel Claude’s smile curve against his neck, then there’s a soft bite -- and then a hand on his ass, smacking him, playful. “All right,” Claude says. “But I’ll stop if it’s sending you somewhere bad. I’ll know. So you can’t argue if I do it.” 

“I can argue about anything,” Felix points out. The bells on the sash chime as he turns his head, tries to make himself settle into the dark. There’s no real panic, because he knows he _is_ safe with Claude. It’s enough apprehension to get his nerves going, his breath coming faster. 

“Right. How could I forget?” Claude kisses his shoulder and moves away, and the lack of his body heat makes Felix shiver. “You want it to hurt, you want out of your head?” 

Felix is astounded at how he always manages to forget how much Claude _talks_. “That’s what I just _said_.” 

“Just checking.” Claude chuckles. “I’m starting with the leather flogger.” Claude drags it down his back, and Felix shivers from the sensation of the soft hide on his skin. 

He knows what Claude is doing, trying to mitigate the fear of not having his vision by telling him what’s happening. “You don’t have to do that. Tell me. I -- need to be scared.” 

“No,” Claude says, implacable. “I’ll make it hurt, that’s fine. But I’m never going to make you afraid of me on purpose. You have your limits, I have mine.” 

Frustrated, Felix bites out a curse and shifts on his feet. It’s not worth arguing. Especially because hearing that made something tight in his chest loosen, and he doesn’t even understand why. “Fine.” 

“Ah, Felix. I’m going to put you under so hard, sweet thing. Take a deep breath -- there we go.” With that, there’s a _woosh_ and then the feel of the flogger striking his back. 

Felix jerks in his cuffs, and grits his teeth -- Claude isn’t hitting him hard, exactly, but this is an entirely different kind of flogger than the one he used last night, with the fur. Felix is wound up and feels like he might die if he doesn’t get more, though, and he finds he’s glad for the cuffs as he goes up on his toes, moves around, settles into the sensation. Not pain like he needs, not quite yet. 

But it’s good. It’s good, and he’s glad for the cuffs, and as he breathes into the strikes of the leather flogger he starts thinking about how different this is, with Claude. How he just seems to know, and how Felix sometimes gets annoyed about it but still _trusts_ him, and _Saints_ but that’s the difference, isn’t it? 

That’s always been the difference. 

“That’s it, sweet thing. So good.” Claude sounds pleased and happy, and when he asks, “do you want it harder?” all Felix does is nod but Claude sees it and starts flogging him harder. He keeps his strikes in the center of Felix’s back, and gradually starts hitting him hard enough that the initial stinging pain turns into something deeper. 

Felix arches back into it, and Claude laughs a little. There’s an edge to it that Felix finds as arousing as the flogger; his fingers curl in and he pulls on the cuffs again, just to feel like he can’t escape. He still doesn’t much like the blindfold and his senses are on high alert, but he knows that if it keeps him from going under, if he’s wrong about needing it, Claude will make it right. Claude will take care of it. Of him. 

Felix relaxes into the pain just as Claude switches it up, and when he says, “Let’s see how much you can take with this one,” there’s a hot sharpness to his tone, dominance with a touch of sadism, and it makes Felix’s cock throb. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, aroused and shaking and not afraid, exactly, but nervous. Anticipatory. It’s good. “Yeah.” 

A pause, and then the leather strikes his back, harder, and Felix cries out at the sudden stinging pain, back arching and head bowing. He’s sweating already and this isn’t even the flogger with the metal chains on it. But the pain is starting to turn from those hot flashes into something sharp and cold, like the snow in a Faerghan winter, like the sea off the coast of Fraldarius. 

“Let’s see if you can take another one. Deep breath, Fox-cub, you’re so gorgeous, look at you.” Claude says something else in Almyran, the tone warm enough that Felix figures it must be praise even if he can’t understand the words. Claude brings the flogger hard against his back once, twice, and then a third time, just a little higher than before. 

Felix cries out at the last strike, but there’s a moan in there somewhere. His cock is hard, his eyes are stinging, and the gold silk of his makeshift blindfold is already damp with sweat and tears. “Fuck, oh, fuck, that’s -- yeah, yeah, more, please,” he babbles, shivering, and how did he not know that it could be like this? 

“Little masochist, look at you begging already,” Claude murmurs, suddenly very close to him, and places a hand at the base of Felix’s neck. Before Felix can beg him for more, Claude drags his nails slowly down the hot skin of Felix’s back, and the pain on top of his freshly-whipped skin makes him shout, kick one of his bare feet and jostle the cuffs hard as he thrashes. “That’s so -- I’d fuck you right now if I could. But you need more, don’t you?” Claude smacks his hand on Felix’s back and gives that same delighted laugh when Felix moans. “Think you can take that metal flogger, sweet thing?” 

“Yes, yes, _please_ ,” Felix moans, and he’s almost forgotten he’s even _wearing_ a blindfold, the pain is so good. 

“Are you sure? It hurts. It might be too much,” Claude says, fingers -- not nails, this time -- dragging down and back up Felix’s reddened back. 

Felix is right on the edge of where he wants to be, and rapidly backing down and away from it the longer Claude doesn’t give it to him. Which is deliberate, of course it is, another sign that Felix doesn’t have the control here, and will suffer at Claude’s pleasure. 

“Yeah, going to need you to take some deep breaths for me, first,” says Claude. 

Felix didn’t even realize that his breathing is so erratic, too light and fast, until Claude says that. He forces himself to do as bidden, gulping in air and vaguely aware of Claude murmuring again in Almyran and patting him, low on his back, light and not meant to hurt. “I’m good,” Felix manages, at length. “I am.” 

“Oh, you are. You’re so good, sweet thing. I’ve never in my _life_ liked flogging someone as much as I just liked that.” He waits another moment, gentles Felix a bit, and then checks the cuffs, the blindfold, and finally, makes Felix drink some water. 

The caretaking is almost harder for Felix to handle than the pain -- which, of course, Claude knows that, doesn’t he? But before Felix can even think to call him out on it, Claude says, “You’re being so good and I want you to know that I do trust you and your limits, so, you answer this honestly and I’ll do whatever you want. Do you want to feel this chain flogger before I use it? Like I did earlier, with the leather one.” 

“No,” Felix says, immediately. His nerves light up at the thought of taking it without having any idea what it might feel like, a chain flogger. “No, I don’t.” 

“Are you sure? This is pretty intense, Felix.” 

Goddess, he is really the worst. Felix breathes hard out of his nose. “I’m sure.” 

“Okay. Try and stay still for me, there you go, and bow your head -- a little more, that’s it. Remember. You tell me if this is too much.” Claude’s words are sincere, but the little sly tone to his voice tells Felix that he’s getting off on the anticipation as much as Felix is. “We’ll see how you feel after the first one.” 

Felix is so tightly-wound with anticipation he can’t do anything but make a half-growl, half-huffing sound and try and stay still. There’s a strange sort of whistling sound and a second later, the chain flogger hits his back. 

It is nothing like he’s ever felt before. It feels almost like being whipped with knives -- the pain is like the drag of Claude’s nails over his back, only magnified, and it feels exactly like falling into cold water through the ice of a pond, the ice catching over skin, the pain so intense it sends white sparks flashing behind Felix’s eyes. It’s surprise at the sensation -- completely unexpected -- that has Felix’s mouth opening on a shout that feels dragged up from the bottom of his soul, an ugly, loud sound spilling into the quiet of the room. 

“Sweet thing, do you like my toy? I’ve heard that they used to use the threat of this thing to keep bratty submissives in line, but somehow I don’t think that would work with you, would it?” Claude’s voice sounds like it is coming from very far away. “Fox-cub, talk to me.” 

Felix is so stunned by the sensation that he half-expects to feel wet blood on his back -- but then, it fades. Quickly, far quicker than ice or knives or any of that would fade, and he slumps forward, dazed, breathing harshly through his mouth and tasting the bitter spill of his own tears. “I _loved_ it. Oh, _Goddess_.” 

Claude’s laugh is bright and warm like sunlight. “No one has ever said that about this thing, literally ever. Okay, well, you want more?” 

Felix nods. He’s shaking, already, grabbing at the cuffs, wanting and fearing the fall of that flogger so badly he can taste it. “I -- yeah, please, please, Claude.” That cold sharpness has faded to a dull throb, and he wants it back the way it was, blooming like frost over his skin. 

“Head down, deep breath,” Claude orders, and Felix obeys. 

He’s a little more prepared for it, this time, so the shock of pain isn’t entirely the same -- and his adrenaline’s kicked in, so that he can focus a little more on how it feels. The chains are small with tiny metal balls, and unlike the heavier fall of the leather straps, this particular flogger feels like knives. It isn’t that same bright burst of surprised sensation as it was on that first strike, but it still hurts, sending Felix up on his toes and pulling another cry out of him. 

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” Claude is saying, in the distance. He swings the flogger again, and then again, and these aren’t nearly as hard as that first one, but they still _hurt_. Felix falls into the pain of it like he really is falling through the ice into a frozen pond, and lets it drag him under. 

He’s nearly there, but it stops. Claude’s checking on him, again, of course he is, saying something and Felix just sort of shudders and pulls weakly at the chains, because he needs -- he needs more. He has to keep going. He -- 

“I know,” Claude says, hand around the back of Felix’s neck. “No more of this one, though. But the cane. I’ve got you.” 

Claude doesn’t use the cane -- rattan or some kind of wood with a snap -- on his back, instead marking up the back of Felix’s ass and his lower thighs. It’s a similar sensation to the chain flogger, though more focused, less spread out and less jarring since Claude is able to get into a much better rhythm with it. He alternates between the cane and his bare hand, steady and sure. 

As much as the pain from that wicked chain flogger pulled him under, what finally drags Felix to the metaphorical bottom isn’t so much the pain or the relentlessness of it, but the care Claude’s taking in causing it. 

Felix hears himself sob. Claude doesn’t stop, and Felix is almost hanging from his cuffs, practically leaning against the wall. The knot of unhappiness inside of him is gone, and the pain he’s been trying to both avoid and live in for all this time is finally set free. There’s nowhere else to go, and there’s nothing else to see, and Felix finally goes under and lets himself sob like his heart is breaking. 

It’s Dimitri he sees in that space between darkness and light; but not the cold-eyed beast of a puppet king who hurt him, Rhea’s lion sent out to die in a burning city. It’s not the Boar, with his false smile and his platitudes, darkness trapped inside him that everyone but Felix pretended not to notice. It’s not even Dimitri under a cloudless sky in Western Faerghus, all his pain and rage at what happened to his family in Duscur given free reign on a pitiful excuse for a battlefield. 

Felix has no more tears for _that_ Dimitri, doomed last king of Faerghus. 

But he does have them for Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, his best friend, the man he’d loved and wanted to kneel for before he even understood what either of those things truly meant. Dimitri, laughing at Felix’s attempts to knock Glenn over with a sword. Dimitri, patiently waiting for little Felix’s much smaller legs when they would run loose in the Faerghan countryside. Dimitri, who once set Felix up in the branches of a tree and swore not to tell anyone that Felix didn’t climb it himself. 

Dimitri, who danced with him once and blushed the whole time, stepping on his feet, muttering awkward apologies while Felix let himself think of a future in which they both knew the steps and danced them perfectly, in sync. 

Dimitri, who two days before he left for Duscur, kissed Felix with all the awkward clumsiness of a teenager. Who looked stunned and happy when Felix, overcome with feelings he didn’t understand, felt for the first time the desire to kneel -- and did so. 

_Wait for me,_ Dimitri said, his hand on Felix’s bowed head, like Felix was something precious, something perfect. _We’ll talk when I get back, but just...wait for me._

Dimitri, who never came home. 

And Felix, who never stopped waiting for him to anyway. 

Somewhere amidst the tears and the gasping sobs, Felix finally lets him go. 

***  
Felix is aware of his hands being uncuffed, but Claude doesn’t take off his blindfold; which is fine, because after all of that, there’s finally peace there, in that space behind his eyes. Felix lets himself be led somewhere, he doesn’t know or care where, and his back and ass and thighs are on fire, his face is wet with tears and sweat, his nose is stopped up and he can’t breathe, and he feels better than he maybe ever has, since that long-ago day he knelt in the cool dewy grass for Dimitri for the first -- and last -- time. 

He ends up lying on his stomach on something soft. A bed, probably. He mumbles, wanting to push himself off and kneel -- but there’s a strong hand on the back of his neck, and a voice saying, “Hey, I’m going to take this blindfold off, yeah?” 

Felix says nothing, but when the silk is pulled away he presses his face in the soft pillow, unwilling to come up quite yet. Claude’s fingers deftly undo Felix’s topknot -- his hair’s a mess, of course -- and Felix drifts there in quiet peaceful langor as Claude braids his hair. 

So this is what it means to be under. 

“I’m going to get a few things, okay? Are you all right, can you lay here and breathe for me?” 

Felix reaches out a hand -- it’s more akin to a fish flopping on a dock, maybe -- and twines his fingers with Claude’s. “Don’t go.” 

“Yeah,” Claude says, and he doesn’t. “Okay.” 

This can’t last, obviously. Felix doesn’t even want it to. But when he can finally breathe again, he turns his head and finally blinks his eyes open. Claude is watching him, those bright green eyes firmly fixed on him. He’s sitting there on the edge of the bed, holding Felix’s hand. 

“Hi,” says Claude. 

“I loved him,” Felix says, the words tumbling harsh and awkward from his mouth. “Not - not the Boar. Not Rhea’s king. My - my Dimitri. I loved him.” 

“Yeah,” Claude says, smoothing Felix’s damp hair off his face. “I know.” 

“I - he was supposed to come back. He didn’t.” Felix blinks. “I used to cry about everything. When I was little, I -- you can. Ask Sylvain.” The words are easy for him now, in a way they never are. “But I never cried for him. I guess I thought, if I didn’t….” 

“Then he wasn’t really gone.” Claude’s smile is soft. “Makes sense.” 

“Yeah. No. Ugh.” Felix turns his face back into the pillow. It feels like someone dragged his soul out of his body, then flayed him and stripped him bare, down to bones and all the messy pieces of what he is. But it’s okay. It’s Claude. “I just. Thought I could have saved him. But I couldn’t.” 

“No. You couldn’t.” Claude strokes his hair. “You tried, though.” 

“Yeah.” Felix breathes in, long and slow. “Yeah.” He squeezes Claude’s hand. He’s suddenly thirsty, and his face feels gross. His back hurts, but that part at least he doesn’t mind.

“Water?” Claude asks. When Felix nods, Claude brings their joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss there, again. “Are you going to be okay if I go get some?” 

Felix nods. He watches Claude get up and move around the room; for the first time, he notices that Claude’s brought him into his suite. The silk sheets are cool against his naked skin, and there’s even a breeze coming in through the curtains. 

He pokes at that memory of Dimitri, the one where he’d lifted Felix up and put him on the tree branch. _Don’t tell them, Dima! Tell them I got up here on my_ own. 

And Dimitri had. Even if Felix was sure no one believed him. 

He can’t quite smile about it, not yet. But maybe one day, that’ll be the person he thinks about, when he thinks about Dimitri. _All that time I told you not to live for the dead, and I did the same thing._

Felix takes the goblet Claude gives him and sips it, sighing in relief as the cool water eases his parched throat. 

Claude holds up something in a small jar. “This will take the sting out, from the flogger and the cane, but I figured I’d better ask, first, I know how you masochists are.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Felix says, shaking his head. “I like it.” He does. The ache and throb settle him better than anything, except maybe Claude. 

“There’s -- the skin’s not broken. Felix, gods, I’ve never seen anyone like that chain flogger as much as you.” 

The thought makes Felix smile. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Remembering that first beautiful strike on his back makes him shiver, even now. 

“Masochists,” Claude says, but he seems pretty pleased. “Does this mean you’re good with a bath? The water might hurt, but I’m thinking that’s not going to bother you.” 

“Yeah, my face feels gross.” Felix sits up, wincing at the pull and the pressure on his ass. He gets to his feet, inhaling sharply and rolling his shoulders. 

“Then let’s get you to the bath,” says Claude. He stops, though, because Felix sinks to his knees in perfect form, hands behind his back, aches and bruises throbbing gently, head bowed. 

“Thank you,” Felix says. That was the last of the weight he’s been carrying for years finally cast aside, and he wishes he could explain how it feels to be free of it. Maybe later the words will be there, but for now, he can do this. 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Claude says, warmly, hand settling heavy on his head. “And for letting me put you under -- finally. How’s it feel?” 

“Mmm. Good.” Felix doesn’t look up, and when Claude moves toward the bath, he decides he wants to crawl, so he does. Every pull of his muscles, every flare of pain, makes him feel better. The cool tile beneath his knees doesn’t even bother him. He would follow Claude into a fire like this, right now. 

“Now you’re just spoiling me,” Claude says, holding a hand out once they’re in the bathing room. “Come on, you know you want to see your marks.” 

Felix takes his hand, though he doesn’t need it, and lets Claude help him to his feet. Claude waits indulgently while Felix examines his back in the mirror, preening in his own quiet way at his bruises, the marks he took from the cane. He looks at them for so long that Claude laughs, though he seems to be enjoying the sight, too.

The hot water _does_ hurt, at first, but the slight ache just keeps Felix in that sweet relaxed place so he doesn’t mind. And it’s worth it to wash his face and comb his hair. He’s still under enough that when he decides he wants to touch Claude, he swims across and straddles his lap. Felix has never been one for affection, but he doesn’t question the need for it at the moment, and Claude seems to like it anyway. 

Claude slides his hands up Felix’s arms as Felix settles on him. Felix wants to kiss him but he doesn’t; he’s under enough that he wants permission, or to be told to, or just dragged into it like Claude does sometimes. 

“Ask for what you want, Fox-Cub,” Claude murmurs, hand sliding up into Felix’s long, wet dark hair. 

“Can I. Kiss you.” Felix still can’t quite look Claude in the eyes, so he asks Claude’s shoulder. 

“Of course.” Claude tugs him in, and Felix kisses him, lazy and hot, then presses his face against Claude’s neck. “This is cute. You’re being cute, right now.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” Felix mumbles, against Claude’s skin. “You saw what it takes to get me here.” 

“You’re not nearly the handful you think you are,” Claude says, voice thrumming with his natural dominance and good bit of arrogance. It’s attractive. Probably Felix would want to bite him, if he said that any other time, but maybe not. It’s nice to hear, anyway. 

“You’re way more of one than you think,” Felix says, and smiles when Claude sputters and playfully smacks him in the side of the head, then pulls him into a heated kiss. 

They spend some time there in the baths, kissing, but eventually Felix realizes -- with something like surprise -- that he’s hungry. Also, when they eventually make their way back into the suite, he’s surprised to see it’s nighttime. 

Claude has the tie from Felix’s robe sent out to be cleaned, but Felix shrugs into the gold silk and sits quietly next to Claude at the low table. Claude hand-feeds him and teaches him the Almyran words for what they’re eating, tells him a few phrases to use to say _thank you_ to the staff who bring in dinner and clear it out again. 

Then Claude takes him to bed, cuffs him to the headboard, and makes Felix cry out in pleasure as he fucks him hard enough to make him feel all those bruises on his back and his upper thighs, his ass. He doesn’t let Felix come until he’s finished, then he slides smoothly down and takes Felix’s cock in his mouth, bossily demanding Felix pull his hair while he sucks him off. 

They are curled up together and half-asleep when Felix says, very quietly, “I wanted to ask you for something. But I know it might not...be possible, but --” 

Claude says something sleepily in Almyran, catches himself and says, “Hmm? Just ask Fox-Cub.” 

And Felix, lying safe in the arms of his lover, his king, and his dominant...breathes out the rest of his old fears, his anger, and truly decides it’s time to let the past go for good. “I want to say goodbye. To him, to -- to Faerghus. I heard there’s a grave, and I -- I think I should. Go there.” 

“Okay,” Claude says, after a moment. He’s behind Felix, wrapped around him like a warm blanket, one hand resting light over Felix’s heart. “I can’t promise you it’ll be soon, but I can promise that if you want to go home, I’ll take you there.” 

“I already _am_ home,” Felix says, without thinking. 

“Yeah,” Claude says. “You are.” 

Felix closes his eyes. Despite a day spent dredging up the past like well-water, the only thing he dreams about that night is Claude; smiling bright in the sunlight, infuriating and stubborn and reliable, and the past stays far away, in the shadows where it belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chain flogger is sort of based on a ball-chain flogger (think a whole bunch of ceiling fan pulls together), and can be very intense. Anyway, I've wanted to write that scene since chapter 2, and it made me cry, because i'm ridiculous. 
> 
> also, idk if i mentioned that this fic is based on a song -- [Won't Go Down Easy](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/jaxsongamble/wontgodowneasy.html) by Jaxson Gamble (link goes to lyrics, not a video).


	16. bird-singer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for scratching, magic used for kink, service sadism if that's a thing. 
> 
> My thanks to Quorniya for a fantastic Marianne-POV beta and giving me the great idea of Mari using ice magic for fun ;)

The royal Almyran aviary is located on the east side of the palace, and features an outdoor swimming pool, a huge wire enclosure for a variety of local birds and a sprawling, high-ceilinged building for the falconry. There’s also a smaller, circular pavilion set near the pool, a heavy canvas tent full of comfortable furniture and little luxuries necessary to spend a pleasant day or two and want for nothing. . 

It is unquestionably the domain of Marianne, Bird-Singer, collared submissive of Queen Hilda. The pavilion has been slowly turned from a simple space to something luxurious and pleasant, little additions made by the staff, gifts for the Bird-Singer who they think is a wonder. 

Where before the canvas pavilion was open and mostly empty, there’s now bedding, mosquito netting rigged up to hang over it and the adjacent seating area of soft silk pillows. There’s a little table and a tea-set, a place for books, handmade boxes with small treats for both the birds and the human occupants. Marianne’s gentle demeanor and patience with the wild things in Almyra have made her almost a legendary creature herself; whereas before she used to fear her nature, now it’s become something to be proud of, lauded. 

At first she’d thought it was Hilda who was putting everything together for her, each subsequent visit finding a new treasure or trinket or luxury meant for Marianne’s comfort and delight. When Hilda had smiled wide and said, “No, baby girl, it’s not me, it’s the people here, they _adore_ you,” Marianne hadn’t known quite what to do with that information. 

Hilda has, of course, added a few touches to the pavilion but mostly she leaves it up to Marianne to fix it up as she likes. Which is yet another gift given that Marianne loves her for, so much she thinks she will never find the words to tell her just how much it means. To have this place, here, in the strange land where she’s found a home. Among people who have accepted her, and for some of the parts of herself she’s always thought so alien and inexplicably strange. 

Marianne settles into making tea, glancing over at Hilda and smiling at the sight of her; the queen of Almyra is wearing nothing but her skimpy underwear and one of Claude’s sleeveless tank undershirts. She’s also not wearing a bra, her hair is up in a topknot and she’s biting her lip in concentration as she finishes up Felix’s collar, which she brought with her to work on. 

But Marianne is very distracted by Hilda’s full breasts pushing against the see-through material of that tank. 

“Hmm. I think this is about done.” Hilda glances up, then quirks a brow. “Baby girl, are you staring at my _tits_?” 

Marianne nods. “I am. They look nice in that shirt.” 

Hilda flashes a grin at her. Marianne loves Hilda, every version of her; bossy dominant queen dressed in her full Almyran regalia, casual Hilda in her gauzy dresses and beaded tops, sleepy Hilda in her underwear, naked Hilda, _wet_ Hilda in the bath -- but most of all, Marianne loves her like this, comfortable and happy and teasing, at ease with herself. Maybe other people don’t know this about her, but Hilda doesn’t show the relaxed side of herself to many people. Marianne’s always felt blessed that she gets to see it, that she gets to _make_ Hilda that way. Comfortable and happy. It lights her up warm like the sun, and also, her breasts really do look wonderful under that shirt. 

“It’s comfy. I have about four of these. Claude’s so messy he never realizes I steal them when they’re back from the launderers.” She beams. “You look pretty great in what _you’re_ wearing, too.” 

Marianne is only wearing her collar. She smiles. “Thank you. The collar looks nice. It’s a good color for Felix.” 

“I know, right? Ugh. No depressing black. That boy needs to seriously cheer up.” She smiles at Marianne. “You like him, huh.” 

Marianne nods. “I do. He...reminds me a little of myself. Before.” She pours the tea, a southern fruit blend Hilda likes, and arranges some delicate slices of wyvernfruit on the pretty turquoise glass plate. 

“Baby, no way. You are like, an angel incarnate, and --” 

“Hilda,” Marianne interrupts, kindly. “You know that isn’t true.” 

“Fight me,” Hilda says, sipping her tea. 

Marianne giggles, nibbling on her wyvernfruit. “You’re only a little biased, is all. And I meant before, when I was...so angry all the time.” 

Hilda sighs. “I know, I just hate that you ever felt like that. It makes me want to punch something. Axe its head off. How _dare_ anyone make you feel like that, you know? You’re wonderful and you’ve always _been_ wonderful.” 

“I have not,” Marianne says, shaking her head. She loves Hilda, she really does, but Marianne knows she has most certainly not always been wonderful. “Maybe to you,” she adds, quickly, before Hilda can argue. “But not to myself.” 

Hilda’s pink eyes go all warm and soft and her smile is sweet. “I know, baby. I just. I hate to think about that, and you’re not that way anymore, so.” Her dominance feels like a warm weighted blanket on a cold day, and Marianne lets herself revel in Hilda’s sheer, enthusiastic adoration before she gently disentangles herself from it. It’s impossible to have a conversation sometimes, when Hilda gets this way.   
Not that Marianne minds, exactly, but she’s feeling chatty today. Being here, in this space, always relaxes her, makes her feel safe -- and being with Hilda, having time together just the two of them, makes her feel like she could conquer the world. 

“Felix reminds me of me because he’s so angry with himself,” Marianne says, after a moment. “I think I was angry, too.” 

“You were,” Hilda says, studying the collar, stitching at the embroidery with a pretty gold thread; despite her task, her focus is on Marianne. “Like, I get that. I think a lot of us were angry. I decided to be angry and lazy, you were angry and sad, and Claude was angry and manipulative. Maybe being angry just makes us the real bad version of ourselves, you know?” 

Marianne is always astounded by how Hilda can cut through bullshit like she can cut through bone with her axe. “I -- yes, that’s. Exactly right.” She folds her legs beneath her on the pillow. “Felix is angry and feels worthless, which I was, too. It’s a hard way to be all the time. And I had to learn I was as wonderful as you kept telling me I was, but I did, and I think Felix will learn that, too. With Claude.” 

“Probably. He’s really stupid about Felix. It’s cute.” Hilda smiles. “I’m like, so relieved he _finally_ took a submissive. Especially with the peace talks and everything, he was gonna be _so_ much work to put up with.” 

Marianne smiles affectionately and dips an almond cookie into her tea. “Probably, yes,” she says, because while she loves Claude dearly, he _is_ rather a lot. In a completely different way than Hilda. “But he seems more settled, for sure.” 

“Man, I never would have called Claude and _Felix_ ,” Hilda says, shaking her head. “But I guess Mr. Leader Man always has liked a challenge.” She sets the collar down on the table and stretches. It’s very distracting. She catches Marianne watching and grins. “Well, you’re happy here so Felix will be, too.” There’s no arguing with that tone in her voice. 

“I think he already is,” Marianne says. “I like having him here. He’s funny.” 

“Do you think he’s cute?” Hilda asks, head tilting. Her fair skin glimmers slightly with sweat, but Hilda -- far more used to this climate than Marianne was or ever will be, even now -- just looks like a dewy, glimmering flower. Marianne turns blotchy and red, like Felix, from the heat alone. 

Marianne considers this. “Yes, I think so. He has pretty eyes. I like his hair. Do you think he’s cute?” 

“I mean. I sort of want to smack him and make him choke on my strap, does that count?” 

“For you? Yes,” Marianne says, dryly, and luxuriates in Hilda’s bright happy laugh. The sound always makes her want to roll around like a happy cat in the sun, moreso when it’s because of her. 

“I was just wondering how that worked, since you’re a sub, he’s a sub….” 

Sometimes Marianne wonders about the education Hilda received about dominants and submissives, growing up in a house where military might and strength was valued above all else. “I can think someone is cute who isn’t a dominant,” she tells Hilda. “Aesthetically, anyway.” 

“Oh.” Hilda takes a piece of wyvernfruit eats it, then holds her sticky fingers out for Marianne to lick like a kitten. 

Which she does, of course. Who wouldn’t? “Are you asking me for a reason?” Marianne asks, having learned that Hilda can be just as sneaky as Claude, though she’s usually a bit more direct about her schemes. 

Hilda shrugs. “I mean, I figure at some point there’s gonna be a time when it might come up, Claude can’t keep his hands off Felix and we all tend to sleep together. I’d rather know your comfort level now than ask you in the middle of anything, with like, me and Claude’s influence making you say something you might not really feel. I know how you like to make me happy, but I absolutely won’t let anyone touch you if I don’t think you’re okay with it.” 

Marianne scoots over and presses her face to Hilda’s bare shoulder. She kisses her there, softly, on her sweet dewy skin as she pulls back with a smile. “You’re the one who’s wonderful, you know.” 

Hilda winks. “I know.” 

Marianne laughs outright, louder than she usually ever does, even now. “And impossible.” 

“I know that, too. But the answer, baby girl. If you need to think about it, it’s fine. But I do think we should talk about it, since Claude’s going to collar Felix.” 

“I don’t need to think about it, really,” Marianne says, going back to her pillow to continue with her tea. First, of course, she puts more fruit on the glass plate, another few almond cookies, refreshes Hilda’s tea and then her own. “I don’t mind serving you with Claude there, and I don’t mind serving you with Felix there, either.” 

“I know that, but...what if I wanted to watch you two make out?” 

Marianne blushes hotly. “Do you?”

“Well, I’m thinking about it. If his attitude doesn’t suck, maybe. Claude would be into it, so, sometimes I like to be nice to him.” Hilda waves a hand, as if she doesn’t absolutely love Claude to bits. “When he deserves it.” 

“I -- I think I’m all right with that,” Marianne says, slowly, considering it. “If he is, of course.” 

“Um, if he doesn’t think you’re gorgeous and beautiful and perfect, he can go the fuck back to Fodla-la-land.” 

“Hilda,” Marianne chides, gently. “If he’s not comfortable with that, with - with me, then I don’t want him to feel like he has to. Or be banished.” 

The look on her beloved’s face is _how could any idiot not want to_ , which has always made Marianne a little flustered because she honestly doesn’t understand, sometimes, what Hilda _saw_ in her, back when she was angry and depressed and moping about her family’s cursed lineage all the time. Especially when Hilda, back when they first met, was occasionally too oblivious to pay much attention to other people unless they could somehow do something for her. 

Not that Marianne hadn’t always wanted to serve her, even as -- well, _obnoxious_ seems maybe a little much, but Hilda had been the extreme version of herself, perhaps overcompensating, and Marianne had still been enthralled by her. And she supposes, if that were true, perhaps Hilda was the same with _her_. 

“No, I get that. That’s Claude’s problem, though. He can deal with Felix, Goddess help him. You’re my concern, right?” 

Marianne nods. “Yes, I -- yes, of course I am.” 

“Good.” Hilda finishes her tea. “Then you can tell me what your thoughts are about that. Whatever they are. Until then, I’ll make sure nothing happens that would make you uncomfortable in any way.” 

“I - I don’t mind him...seeing me,” Marianne says, thinking about it. “Naked and collared and serving you, I mean. I think I wouldn’t mind, ah. Braiding his hair. Claude’s not very good at it,” Marianne says, with a soft chuckle. 

“I know, right? Okay. Good, baby, you’re doing so good, telling me.” 

Pleased, Marianne takes another bite of fruit and smiles down at her plate. “If you wanted...if Claude wanted...I wouldn’t be adverse. But I don’t mind if we don’t?” 

“Like with Claude, then?” Hilda asks. 

Marianne thinks about that. “It’s a little different,” she says. She pushes the last almond cookie at Hilda, who breaks it in half and gives the other piece to Marianne. “Claude’s a dominant and I suppose I do find that...attractive in a different way.” 

“You wanna fuck my husband, that what you’re saying? Wanna get some of that good king’s cock, since you get the queen’s on the regular?” 

“Hilda!” Marianne turns bright red, but she giggles despite herself. It never fails to surprise her when Hilda talks like one of her brother’s soldiers from home, though it shouldn’t. 

“What? I don’t blame you, he’s so good in bed. It’s not like he _wouldn’t_ , he’s just, you know, real concerned about boundaries.” Hilda shrugs. “And now that he has a submissive, it’s something we can talk about.” 

Marianne blinks. “Is that -- why he’s never….?” She’s maybe wondered about that, a time or two. Her old insecurities used to whisper _as if you’re good enough for a king_ , but she’s been able to quiet those easier than ever, especially with Hilda’s constant affection and praise. 

“Yeah, did you think...oh, I’m sorry!” Hilda hurries over to embrace her. “I didn’t mean to make you think he didn’t want to, or wouldn’t, I just...I know how he is, baby girl, and he is a _lot_ , and you already have _me_ , so, you know.” 

Marianne lets herself be hugged by her exuberant dominant, then pats Hilda on the back. “I know. I was curious, that’s all.” 

“You can _ask_ , you know,” Hilda huffs, managing to be both apologetic and chastising at once, which is definitely a skill of hers. “Claude’s so...much, and I mean, I know I am, too, but he doesn’t get to just dom you all the time, that’s not fair. You’re mine, and I guess kinda his, since he’s the king, but only because I said it was okay.” 

“Hilda,” Marianne says, taking her face in her hands and leaning in. “I love you, so much. But you are ridiculous.” 

“I know, right?” Hilda kisses her back. “But yeah, I’m sorry, I, um. Maybe should have told you that. I hate that you would think it was you, but I sorta don’t think wound-up Claude is good enough for you.” 

Of course Hilda would think _the king of Almyra_ wasn’t good enough for her. “As I said. Ridiculous. You know I love Claude very much.” 

“And he loves you, baby girl. Honestly, it’s been kinda awesome to have him ask me about being a dom. Like. I’m _good_ at something, right?” Hilda beams. 

“You’re good at so many things, and you are wonderful as a dominant.” Marianne pats her on the arm. “I’m happy with whatever you want me to do with Claude, I’m very comfortable with him. But as for Felix, if you asked me when things were happening...I would tell you the truth if something made me uncomfortable because I know it’s a rule that I do that.” 

“Great plan, baby girl,” Hilda enthuses, kissing her. “When I’m done with this collar, wanna go in the pool for a bit?” 

“Yes,” Marianne says. “I’ll see to the birds again, too.” 

“Sure, but I’m waiting outside.” Hilda makes a face. “Why do they try and eat _my_ hair but not yours?” 

“I asked them nicely not to,” Marianne says, straight-faced, and Hilda looks like she’s not sure if Marianne is serious or not. She smiles. “Maybe they just like you as much as I do.” 

“Maybe they’re trying to steal me so they can keep you,” Hilda says. “I bet Claude has some Almyran myth about birds carrying off a woman to the sky and then she like, gives them wyvern lore or something as a parting gift.” 

Marianne snorts. “That does sound about right.” 

She busies herself cleaning up from their tea, washing the service and drying it with linen towels and putting everything away in the little wooden crate in the corner. It’s decorated with stylized birds and colorful gems, and the Almyran script for _Bird-Singer_ , and it showed up one day without Marianne knowing who put it there. 

“I wonder what Claude wants to do for Felix’s collaring,” Hilda says, once she’s put the finishing touches on the collar. “I asked him, and he just sort of stared at me. I forget they don’t do that here.” 

Marianne remembers her own collaring ceremony with a fond smile. It’d been during the war, with her kneeling for Hilda in private, and had been wonderful even if it had just been the two of them. “I would imagine Felix isn’t the type for elaborate ceremonies, just from what I know of him.” 

“Yeah, but you know how Claude is. They might not collar submissives here in the same way, but he’ll want to show off,” Hilda says. “He’s pretty proud of himself.” 

“I hope they’re all right,” Marianne says, a little concerned about Felix. “I know something awful must have happened with King Dimitri.” She can’t forget the way Felix looked on the balcony that night he first wore his submissive’s robe for Claude, staring out at the dark and seemingly overwhelmed at the idea that maybe it wasn’t _his_ fault someone wasn’t worthy of him. 

“I think they will be. Remember that flogger I made, the one with the jewelry chains? I have a feeling it’s finally going to get some use.” 

Marianne does remember that one, because Hilda made it for Claude in the hopes he’d use it on one of his submissives to calm _down _(her words), since she didn’t typically use anything but the soft fur flogger on Marianne.__

__“Oh, I -- oh,” Marianne says, eyes wide. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you use that. On - on Felix.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Hilda grins slyly. “Is that _so_? Wanna see my little sadistic streak, do you, baby girl?” _ _

__“I --” Marianne shifts, realizing she’s growing wet, a warm curl of arousal in her stomach. “I think I would, actually. If -- if Felix likes that sort of thing,” she adds, because she’s had more than enough of seeing people hurt in battle. But someone like Felix who likes being hurt, who might shudder and moan for Hilda? “Yes, I would like that,” she decides. “Is that -- all right?”_ _

__“Um, hell yeah it is,” Hilda says, pulling her in and kissing her. “Felix definitely gets on my nerves sometimes, so, he should be happy to give me the chance to take it out on him.”_ _

__Marianne knows that doesn’t mean anything -- everyone gets on Hilda’s nerves on occasion, even Claude. Everyone except her, which always makes Marianne feel too warm and embarrassed in a pleasant way. “Claude wouldn’t mind, I don’t think,” she says._ _

__“Nah, he spoils me. As he should. And he spoils Felix, who might grumble but come _on_ , he’s seen me fight. He should know I’ve got a good aim and a strong arm.” _ _

__“Oh,” Marianne says, again. She blinks. “I -- that’s very. Attractive of you.”_ _

__“Maybe someone wants to play around instead of go swimming, hmm?” Hilda sharpens her voice, just a little. “You do keep staring at me, does my girl want something?”_ _

__Marianne nods, hands in her lap, liquid desire running through her, easy as it always is with Hilda. “Yes, please, my lady.”_ _

__Hilda’s brows lift. “Wow, _my lady_ , huh?” Marianne uses that when she’s feeling particularly submissive, eager to serve in any way her dominant wishes. “Well, then get over and get to _work_ , baby girl.” _ _

__And so Marianne does. She strips Hilda with loving, eager hands, lays her out on the silk pillows and kisses her everywhere; her sweet mouth, her gorgeous breasts, the impressive muscles of her arms and her abs and her thighs, and finally puts her mouth between Hilda’s legs and worships her with her tongue. Making Hilda come, hearing those little breathy cries and feeling Hilda’s fingers in her hair, the words of praise that fall so easily from her mouth while she does it -- _yes, baby girl, right there, so good, you’re so perfect, use your fingers, yes, ah, you’re going to make me come for you, sweet girl --_ making Marianne grind herself almost desperately against the pillow beneath her. _ _

__Hilda always comes fast and hard, and she likes to come twice or three times in a row, so by the time Marianne pulls away she’s a sweaty, tumbled mess with a dopey smile and messy hair, limbs splayed wantonly on the silk pillows and faintly radiating satisfaction._ _

__Marianne drifts in the pleasant quiet of a service well performed, then gives a little yelp when Hilda moves like a bright pink whirlwind and grabs Marianne, pushing her to her back and kissing her so she can taste herself on Marianne’s mouth._ _

__She brings Marianne off with a palm pressed between her legs, rubbing her clit and teasing her with her fingers, murmuring praise in Marianne’s ear until Marianne comes against her hand with a soft cry. Then she cuddles Marianne until the heat gets them both, and they decide to walk, naked and hand-in-hand, to the cool outdoor pool fed by the cold springwater._ _

__The birds sing their sweet song above them as they play in the water, and Marianne hopes that whatever is happening with Felix and Claude back at the palace, they find this place together, too._ _

__***  
They return to the palace proper the next morning, after Marianne visits the birds and bids them farewell, stopping to visit the palace outdoor cats and the wyverns on their way. She’s a warm puddle of happy submission when they make their way to the royal suites, Marianne under and feeling soft and happy. _ _

__“Aw,” Hilda says, when they walk into the bedroom. Claude and Felix are both asleep, tangled up in the royal bed, Felix’s messy hair around them. “That’s so cute.”_ _

__Felix, as if he somehow heard in dreams Hilda calling him _cute_ and needs to immediately argue, cracks one eye open and scowls, muttering and pressing his face into the pillow. _ _

__Claude lifts his face from where it’s apparently hidden in Felix’s dark hair and smiles at them. “Hey, if it isn’t the prettiest ladies in all of Almyra.”_ _

__“Oh, no,” Hilda says, but she tosses her unbound hair and preens a little, as she always does when Claude says those things. “Felix what did he do to you?”_ _

__“You know,” Felix mumbles, into the pillow. “He was. _Claude_.” _ _

__Marianne presses her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle._ _

__“Come on, Mari,” Hilda says, taking her hand. “Let’s go take a bath.”_ _

__“I’m very happy for you both,” Marianne calls, as Hilda pulls her toward the bathing room._ _

__“Thanks!” Claude calls back, from the bedroom._ _

__They have lunch together in the family dining room, Marianne and Felix both in their submissive’s robes even though Felix’s is tied with one of Claude’s bright scarves. Hilda gives Claude a look - she doesn’t like it when things aren’t aesthetically pleasing -- but Claude just winks at her, so she lets it go without comment._ _

__Felix is as relaxed as Marianne has ever seen him; his hair down, neatly washed and combed out, loose around his shoulders. His sharp features are softened, and while he isn’t _smiling_ , he’s most certainly under; he sits very close to Claude, leaning in to him when Claude pets his hair, his arm. _ _

__Marianne’s seen Claude be affectionate with Hilda before, of course, but this is completely different. Hilda feeds her and watches them with a pleased little smile, and even _Felix_ is letting Claude hand-feed him, which Marianne has only seen perhaps once. Felix isn’t very chatty, ever, but he’s almost silent during lunch; though it’s a dreamy silence, not his occasional recalcitrant one, his eyes heavy-lidded and glassy. He winces once or twice from what Marianne assumes must be bruising on his ass, and once from a pat on the back from Claude. _ _

__She wonders if he really did use that flogger on Felix. Marianne shifts on her pillow, and Hilda gives her a knowing little smirk and feeds her a bit of a fruit. Marianne takes it, sucks Hilda’s fingers and gives them a little bite. She winks at her, and Hilda laughs in delight._ _

__Claude is riding high on dom-energy, buzzing with it, so much that Marianne finds herself worrying he will drop from it, soon. She knows how that works, it happened to Hilda often in the war. So when lunch is over, she gets permission to leave and kneels before Claude, asking softly, “Is it all right if I braid Felix’s hair and serve him tea, your majesty?”_ _

__Claude looks momentarily surprised, then nods and pats her on the head. “Sure. That’s sweet, Marianne.” He gives her a bright smile, the one that reaches his green eyes and makes them sparkle like jewels. “Felix’s favorite is Almyran pine. You good with this, Fox-cub?”_ _

__Felix just nods -- she honestly thinks he’d be good with just about anything right now -- and Marianne says a little hesitantly, “May we go to the balcony?”_ _

__“Of course,” Claude says, drawing Felix in and kissing him. “Be good for Marianne or Hilda will probably kill you.”_ _

__“Damn right,” Hilda murmurs, from where she’s watching._ _

__Marianne climbs to her feet, bows, and waits for Felix to join her. He gets up from his crossed-legs position with one fluid movement, then also bows, and pads silently after her to the balcony._ _

__“Just a moment and I’ll fetch the tea service,” she says. She smiles when she sees Felix looking at the balcony chairs like they are personally offending him. “And...pillows? When I’m under it helps to kneel, even if we’re doing it as equals.”_ _

__Felix nods, then says, “I’ll get them, if you want,” in a voice gone gruff._ _

__“It’s no trouble,” Marianne says, though she’s amused at the thought of them both trying to out-sub the other. But Felix isn’t a service submissive, so she leaves him standing and staring out at the gardens beyond as she goes to assemble what they need._ _

__Hilda and Claude aren’t in the dining room when she goes back in for the tea things and the pillows; she does hear them in the bedroom, though, and has to smile as she heads back out to the balcony._ _

__“I think our dominants are in a good mood,” she says, placing the tea service on the table._ _

__Felix smiles, just a little, as Marianne moves back inside to finish getting what she needs. She does have to walk through the bedroom to get to her room where the things for his hair are; Hilda is on all fours on the bed, her hair in her face, making gorgeous sounds as Claude, on his knees behind her, takes her._ _

__She watches them for a moment -- they haven’t even noticed her, which is cute -- and then goes to her room. She spends very little time in here, but it’s nice to have a place of her own in the royal suite, a place to keep her things. Organized, since Hilda can be just as messy as Claude, though she’d deny it, probably._ _

__She takes one of the large pillows out with her, then sets the hair things aside and goes to make the tea. Felix turns from his contemplation of the gardens, starting toward her like he wants to help._ _

__“Oh, I -- it makes me happy to serve,” she says, gently. It makes her happy _and_ she has her way of doing things, which seems rude to point out though she doesn’t think Felix is the type to be easily offended. _ _

__He nods, watching her. “I’m not a dominant, though.”_ _

__“No, but I still like it. Please, sit? While the tea brews, I’ll do your hair.”_ _

__“Good luck with that, it’s a mess,” Felix says, but he settles on the pillow and she moves to kneel behind him._ _

__It is a mess, tangled and knotted enough that she feels a low burn of satisfaction in taking her comb to untangle it. “Sometimes Hilda has me work knots out of her necklace chains,” she says, taking a handful of Felix’s hair and working at it._ _

__“You can -- you don’t have to be gentle,” he says, in response._ _

__“Is it all right if I am, though?” she asks. “I’m sorry. I’m not one for causing pain, even if you might prefer it.” Apparently though she wouldn’t mind watching someone else do it to him, but she’s not sure she can own up to that so easily, right now._ _

__“Yeah,” Felix says, and falls quiet while she works._ _

__“You seem happy,” Marianne says, eyeing his hair -- once she finishes with one section, it seems like it wants to just tangle again. “Your hair is very. Frustrating.”_ _

__“I know. My father and my brother’s was the same. I think it would be easier to wear it short, but I guess contrariness runs in the family.”_ _

__Marianne is delighted by this information, because Felix doesn’t often talk about his family. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”_ _

__“Had. He died.”_ _

__“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She pats his shoulder. “That’s right, I remember -- Duscur?”_ _

__“Yeah.” Felix’s shoulders don’t go tight, but he says, carefully, “Is it okay if. We don’t talk about it? I’ll tell you sometime, if -- if you don’t mind it being. Another time.”_ _

__“Of course I don’t mind.” She pats his shoulder again. “Are you comfortable in the robe?”_ _

__He nods, so she continues untangling and thinks about getting some of the oils that Hilda puts in hers to keep it smooth. Maybe she’ll suggest he try that, though she does like getting it all tidy. “Thank you for letting me do this.”_ _

__“I -- yeah, it’s fine. I mean. Thank you.”_ _

__She smiles. “Claude and Hilda are working off their dom energy, so I figured we could leave them to it.”_ _

__Felix gives a soft laugh; it’s a nice sound. “Probably a good idea.”_ _

__Marianne is content to work quietly, never being one to feel like silences needed to be filled, but Felix surprises her by speaking. “Can I ask you something?”_ _

__“Of course you can,” Marianne says, deciding to go over his hair again just to make sure before she braids it. She also has some pretty bells and ribbons to braid in it -- though only if he doesn’t hate the idea. She thinks it will look nice, though._ _

__“When you -- are under. Is it from doing this? Not to me, I mean. For - for a dominant. For Hilda.”_ _

__“Yes, mostly,” Marianne says. “Can I braid these ribbons in your hair?”_ _

__“Uh,” Felix seems a little startled. “Sure?”_ _

__Pleased, she picks up one of the ribbons and deftly starts weaving it in the strands of his hair. “This looks nice. And yes, service puts me under.”_ _

__“Just from -- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound...just from pouring tea?”_ _

__She chuckles softly and tugs his hair. “Not exactly. I like that, just like I enjoy kneeling. But I like service that’s meaningful, useful.”_ _

__“In the war, did you ever feel that way?”_ _

__She thinks about it as she winds the ribbon and bells into his braid. “When I would heal, yes, not...using my magic offensively, that was never pleasant unless I…” she pauses, thinking carefully and not wanting to lie. “Unless I saved someone by doing it, but it always hurt. The healing magic, yes, sometimes after a day in the healer’s tent I would be under. But it was different, then. Not the pleasant kind of under, more exhausted.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Felix says. “Me, too. When I was defending Fraldarius, that -- that didn’t always hurt. To know I was using my blade to help. I guess maybe it’s the same.” He sounds a little surprised. “I never really asked other submissives about how it works, with them.”_ _

__“And you -- you really like it, when it hurts?” Marianne asks, curious._ _

__“Yeah. Pain, it makes me feel...focused. Sharp. Like my mind isn’t whirling or - or struggling with my body. If that makes any sense.”_ _

__“It makes a lot of sense,” she says. “That’s how it feels, too. For me.”_ _

__They’re quiet, pleasantly so, for a little while, as Marianne concentrates. His hair is pretty, and there’s a lot of it but not as much as Hilda’s. She’s braided Claude’s on occasion, or trimmed it when it gets unwieldy. “Hilda finished your collar,” she says, after a bit._ _

__“Oh,” Felix says, and she sees him lift a hand and touch gently at his neck._ _

__“Have you ever worn one?”_ _

__“Just the - the one they put on me, when we came here. It was mostly for show, in case someone saw me. Edelgard didn’t want to deal with any problems about me traveling with Adrestians, though it wasn’t really an issue.” Felix shakes his head a bit. “You put bells in my hair.”_ _

__“Yes,” Marianne says. “And they’re very nice.” Since their talk seems to be going well, she says carefully, “Hilda asked me, since you would be collared to Claude, what my limits were, with you. Sometimes, Claude, he...joins us. Not usually to do anything with me, but if we all...she asked if that...what I would mind.”_ _

__Her face heats, but at least she can see Felix’s ears turn red, so it’s not just her. “Um. I don’t -- know what that means. Do you mean, if we should…?”_ _

__“Yes, I -- oh,” she laughs, a little weakly. “This seemed like a good idea to bring up but maybe. I should have let Hilda and Claude do it. But I wanted you to know that I...well, I like to think that we’re family now but also maybe….no, not maybe.” She makes her voice sound certain, like she feels. “Friends.”_ _

__Felix turns his head slightly, and he smiles at her. “I think we are.”_ _

__Pleased, she smiles back and impulsively leans down to press a kiss on his head. “I’m happy with your limits, whatever they are. It won’t bother me if you don’t...I don’t want you to ever do something you don’t want.”_ _

__“I, ah.” Felix’s face goes hot. “That’s not -- you don’t have to worry, I mean. I’m not.” He huffs. “We really should have let Claude and Hilda have this conversation, probably. I can’t think of anything that I would have a problem with, but I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”_ _

__“Hilda would skin you alive, if you tried,” she says, giggling softly._ _

__“I don’t doubt it, but I wouldn’t.” His shoulders relax. “Whatever you would be. Comfortable with. I’m the same.”_ _

__That seems enough for her, so she nods. “Can I ask you one more thing?”_ _

__“You never, ever talked this much as school,” he says, a little spritely, but there’s enough warm humor in his voice that she knows he’s teasing._ _

__“Neither did you,” she says pertly, and raps him with her comb._ _

__He laughs, loud enough that it startles a few birds in the trees. “You can ask me, sure.”_ _

__“Hilda made a flogger, for Claude.” She finishes with the braid, a little sad that she’s done. His hair looks amazing, the dark black entwined with deep blue ribbons and soft silver bells. “She used jewelry chains, with little balls on it --”_ _

__Felix inhales a shaky sounding breath, and it’s -- well, Marianne can’t deny it’s intriguing. He _is_ very handsome, isn’t he, especially when he’s under and relaxed and not feeling combative. “She - she made that, huh.” _ _

__“Did Claude…?” Marianne presses her hands to her face. “Please don’t feel you have to tell me, if it’s --”_ _

__She stops speaking as Felix gets to his feet, pauses for a second, then slips off Claude’s scarf that he’s using as a robe tie. He shrugs the robe off, lets it fall, and steps forward to put his hands on the balcony._ _

__“There,” he says, and there’s such pride in his voice, she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him sound quite like that, before. “That’s what it did to me.”_ _

__His back is mottled with bruises, clusters of them, clearly made by the flogger. Lower, he has marks from a cane striping his upper thighs and over his ass, but they’re nothing compared to the purpling marks all over his back._ _

__“Oh, is that - oh.” She reaches out, stops herself immediately as her magic flares. “Does it hurt?”_ _

__“Mmhmm,” Felix says, all drowsy and warm. He turns his head to look at her, the bells in his braid jingling softly. “It’s okay, I - I liked it. A lot.”_ _

__She curls her hand in on itself. “I want to heal you, I’m sorry, it’s an instinct.”_ _

__“Please, don’t,” he says, mouth quirked in a smile. “It was a lot to take but I -- I’m proud of it. You can touch me, just don’t heal me.”_ _

__“All right.” She lays careful fingers on the bruises, noting the elegant lines of back, how muscular he is. “But it hurt.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Felix says, almost dreamy. “It hurt.” He shivers, and she knows it isn’t because she’s hurting him...or is she, and he likes it?_ _

__Marianne hasn’t thought much about service and pain, if they can be somehow the same. She’s honestly not sure she would want to hurt someone in the name of service, but it’s interesting to think about, and maybe it’s different if someone likes it. She traces the bruises, light enough that she’s not pressing and says, “I would not mind watching Hilda use that on you.”_ _

__“You’re a surprise,” Felix says, and he still has that warm-pleased sound in his voice, and of course he does -- he’s showing off, isn’t he? Showing what a good submissive he is for his dominant. “I like it. I’d like to say we could have been friends at school but I wasn’t very. Friendly.”_ _

__“Neither was I,” Marianne says bluntly. “I was angry, but I didn’t even realize it at the time. I thought I was cursed because of my family’s crest. Then I met the beast that sired my line. Truly a beast, cursed to wander in this horrible form in the dark, the shadows. Lashing out at everything and everyone. It broke my heart, and I realized that I...was like that. Angry and turning it all on myself instead, but...hiding and hating myself for things that weren’t true, because sometimes staying angry in the shadows is easier than dragging yourself out into the light.”_ _

__Felix goes very still and quiet. “Yeah,” he says, finally. “It is. You learned it a lot quicker than me.”_ _

__“The point is that we learned it.” She strokes her hand over his back, easy, like he’s one of her wild creatures, gentled only through patience, a kind touch. “I’m very happy you’re here, Felix.”_ _

__“So am I,” he says._ _

__“Oh, ho,” a voice says, starling them. “I see how it is. I’m gone for twenty minutes and you’re feeling up Felix, eh, Mari?”_ _

__Marianne jumps at the sound of Claude’s voice and turns, though she stifles a laugh when Hilda, somewhere beyond the door, shouts, “Twenty? That was more like ten!”_ _

__Claude, messy-haired and shirtless, with scratch marks on his chest and a sleepy, satisfied look in his eyes, laughs outright. “Not my fault you’re so _easy_ , Hil.” _ _

__“Oooh!” Hilda appears, wearing a dressing gown with uneven pigtails and a mock glare, delivering a punch to Claude’s bare shoulder. Then she notices Felix and Marianne. “Well, okay, then. What’s going on _here_?” _ _

__“Showing off, Fox-Cub?” Claude asks, sounding smug._ _

__Marianne almost says that she asked to see, but then remembered she hadn’t _asked_ exactly, but Felix just says -- sounding as smug as Claude -- “Yeah, I am.” _ _

__“Wow, is that from my flogger?” Hilda pushes onto the balcony, and without asking, puts her hand on Felix’s back. “Nice work, King Khalid.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Claude says. “He took it beautifully.”_ _

__Marianne glances sideways at Hilda, who catches her eye and winks. Then she drags her nails down Felix’s back, and Felix makes a pained little sound that makes Hilda smile._ _

__Marianne shifts a bit._ _

__“Felix, your hair,” Hilda says, idly, like she’s not leaving scratches on his bruises. “It looks _gorgeous_. You better thank Marianne for doing that.” _ _

__“Thanks, Marianne,” Felix says, a little breathlessly, as Hilda scratches him like a cat with a post._ _

__“You’re -- welcome,” Marianne manages. She glances over at Claude, who has his arms crossed over his chest and is taking in this entire scene with a look that Marianne has learned to recognize by now as his scheming face._ _

__He sidles up to her while Hilda leaves scratches down Felix’s back -- and Marianne shivers a little because Hilda does that to her, too, and she loves it -- and glances down at her. “Hot, right?”_ _

__“Of course,” Marianne says. Hilda’s little smile is touched with just a hint of cruelty. Felix is grabbing at the edge of the balcony, practically shaking._ _

__“You don’t mind, right, Felix?” Hilda all but purrs._ _

__“Sure he doesn’t,” Claude answers, for him. “Just ask him to turn around and you could see it for yourself.”_ _

__“Mm. Wow, Claude, you were inspired. I hope you broke for him, Felix.” Hilda drags both sets of nails down Felix’s back, and Felix actually makes a sound. “Claude, can I make him bleed?”_ _

__“Sure,” says Claude, stepping over to stand by Marianne. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”_ _

__“She is,” Marianne says, watching as Hilda digs her nails into Felix’s back and _pulls_ , slow enough that she can see the bright red lines show up on Felix’s back. “Watch his braid, please, Hilda.” _ _

__“Of course, baby girl, I wouldn’t mess up your hard work.” Hilda’s voice is so breathless and pleased, satisfied as she marks up Felix’s back, adding her scratches to the bruises purpling his fair skin._ _

__“He likes that so much,” Claude says, watching them. He reaches down and takes Marianne’s hand, pulls her around to the side. “Don’t you, Fox-Cub?”_ _

__From this vantage point, Marianne can see Felix’s face -- it’s a study in absolute exquisite pleasure, his eyes closed, head tipped back as if he’s showing his throat to all of Almyra while Hilda bloodies him._ _

__“Yes, oh --” Felix is so unguarded like this, Marianne can almost imagine what he might have looked like under Claude’s hand, with the flogger. “Fuck, that hurts.”_ _

__“Mm,” Claude says, voice all low. “Doesn’t it? Honestly, she’s done the same to me and I loved it.”_ _

__“Me, too,” Marianne adds. Hilda might not be inclined to hurt her, but Marianne’s gently encouraged her to be a little rougher over the years. She likes feeling the marks, knowing she’s Hilda’s._ _

__Claude grins down at her and slides an arm around her waist, drawing her next to him. It’s nice, Claude is very affectionate when he’s in a good mood. “Doesn’t he have a cute ass?”_ _

__“Claude,” Felix huffs._ _

__“Watch out, mouthy sub of mine, or you can kneel and I’ll let Hilda smack you. You think those claws of hers hurt on your back --”_ _

__“I did that one time because you were being impossible,” Hilda says, turning her head to fix her husband with a playful glare. “But yeah, your butt’s pretty cute. You’re definitely hot when someone’s hurting you, for sure, Felix.”_ _

__“You sure look hot hurting him,” Claude says, voice full of approval. “Damn.”_ _

__“Very,” Marianne says, shifting again._ _

__“Oh, don’t think I’m not paying attention to how much _you_ are enjoying me doing this to him, baby girl,” Hilda says, scratching at Felix like he really is a scratching post. He’s bleeding, not much but a little, and when Hilda steps back she gives a little approving nod and then swats him on the ass. “Well, Felix?” _ _

__“Fuck,” Felix breathes out, heartfelt and shaking._ _

__“That’s the queen of Almyra, Fox-Cub,” Claude drawls, and Marianne has to turn her face and stifle her laugh into Claude’s warm chest. He pats her on the stomach, his arm still around her._ _

__“Fuck, _your majesty_ ,” says Felix. _ _

__Hilda laughs. “You’re welcome. Mari, baby, come here for a second.”_ _

__Marianne disentangles herself from Claude’s arm and goes over to Hilda, expectant, wondering if she’s going to ask her to go get a clean wet cloth. But Hilda takes her hand, and for a second Marianne thinks she should tell her that Felix wouldn’t want to be healed -- he looks like they could pitch him over the balcony and he wouldn’t argue, so maybe he’s not in a place to voice that -- but instead, Hilda says, “Want to try something?”_ _

__“I -- if you would like me to,” Marianne says, only a little hesitant._ _

__“Poor Felix’s back probably feels like it’s on fire. Why don’t you use some of that ice magic of yours to cool it off?”_ _

__“It hurts and -- I like it,” Felix manages, a testament to how much he really must not want his back healed._ _

__“No one asked you, but who said it wouldn’t hurt?” Hilda does look at Claude, since Felix is his, and Claude gives a slight nod._ _

__“If she wants to,” he says, that sharp clever gaze of his intent on the three of him._ _

__Marianne thinks about what she’d said to Felix, about not hurting him. She bites her lip. “I don’t know -- if I would want to really hurt him.”_ _

__“But he likes it,” Hilda says, as if it’s that easy. “Like when I spank you sometimes, and put the ice on it? It’s like that, just...Felix-level masochism, baby. You don’t _have_ to, but you might like it, if it’s the kind of pain he enjoys. Right?” _ _

__Marianne considers this. It will feel good, for Felix, even though it will also hurt. It’s service, because Hilda wants to see it. “I will try it,” she says, because Hilda’s suggestions have always gone well and if Felix is part of their family, Marianne wants him to be taken care of. Even if he’s also a submissive, he’s a masochist, and she can do this for him. Which she likes._ _

__Marianne calls up her ice magic, feels it spark and flare and grow within her, the taste of ozone and cold winter nights, the glint of moonlight off fresh snow, the bite of ice on her fingers. She reaches out, focuses her will and drags cold magic down the fresh bloody scars on his back. They turn blue with frost, and Felix’s knees buckle as he makes a sound perilously close to a scream._ _

__Claude moves fast as one of his arrows and gets an arm around his waist to hold him up, while Marianne draws little patterns of magic on his back._ _

__When she pulls her hand away and gently dims the flow of magic to a trickle, Felix sobs out a sound and falls, naked and shaking, to his knees in front of Claude. He presses his face to Claude’s thigh, grasping at him. His shoulders are shaking as if he’s crying._ _

__Marianne puts her hand down, unsure what to do, but then Felix pulls his face from Claude’s thigh and blinks at her, face wet with tears, and then he _smiles_. Marianne beams at him and claps her hands, then looks at Hilda with a grin. “I -- liked that!” _ _

__Claude and Hilda exchange the glance of two people who are now _both_ scheming, and Hilda hurries over, takes her face in her hands and kisses her soundly. “Kneel, baby girl. You did so good, sweetheart.” _ _

__Marianne kneels, and Hilda pets her, and all feels right in the world._ _

__It is, of course, Claude who breaks the silence. “I have the _best_ idea for your collaring ceremony, Felix. Or, I guess, for the family party we’re having when it’s over.” _ _

__“I bet you do,” Hilda says, ruffling Marianne’s hair._ _

__Marianne rubs her face against Hilda’s bare leg through the part in her robe. “I’m sure it will be lovely, Claude.”_ _

__Felix’s only response is a slight jingle of the bells in his braid, but that’s probably enough._ _


	17. fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix gets his collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest thanks to Purple_Bookcover for their help with the aerial silk stuff in this chapter! Please know this is fantasy kink AND fantasy aerialists, so if it's not entirely accurate, we're handwaving for artistic license. :D 
> 
> Thanks to Mxticketyboo and Ohmyfae for reading this over as well, and the Discord of Awesome for sprints/encourages to finally get this baby done!

There have been, by Claude’s recollection, at least six attempts on his life -- not counting the battlefield. Two were assassination attempts when he was a child, via poorly-disguised and easily recognizable poison. One was a councillor who hated his father and misjudged Claude’s reflexes, one was an Alliance loyalist during the war, and the most notable was his own half-brother who challenged him for the throne at the age of fourteen. 

None of them were successful, but if looks could kill? Claude’s very scowly submissive would manage to succeed where the rest of them had failed, and Claude would be dead on the floor in his own throne room. 

“No.” Felix shakes his head. “Just. Put the collar on me. We can spar first, or something.” His eyes are narrowed, and he’s standing in what Claude thinks of his Haughty Noble Pose, nose in the air, chin tilted, hands on his narrow hips. “You don’t need to need to make it a _thing_.” 

“....You’ve met me, right?” 

“Yes,” Felix says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have. That’s what I’m worried about.” 

“Felix,” Claude says, smiling. “I’m the King of Almyra.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“You’re my submissive. I’m _collaring_ you.” Claude sees the small, satisfied little smile that Felix can’t quite hide before he goes back to looking haughty again. 

“You said they don’t do that here,” says Felix. 

“What does it mean, in Faerghus, when you take someone’s collar?”

“That you - that you’re theirs. Their submissive. They’re your dominant.” Felix gives him a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Obviously.” 

“Right,” says Claude. “So, maybe we don’t have the same protocol, but it _means_ the same thing. The ceremony is for me, the collaring is for you. But it means, yeah. You’re my submissive, I’m your dominant.” 

Felix puts his hands on his hips. He’s so _pointy_ , from the jut of his chin to his elbows that Claude thinks must be made of steel to his sharp voice, biting out words like he’s sparring with them. “I still think it’s too much.” 

They’re standing in the bright, sunny throne room, quiet and empty save the two of them. Silks hang from the colonnades, columns etched with typical Almyran imagery; stars, the sun, the moon. There are mosaics that glow in the warm sunlight and stained glass windows that throw interesting patterns on the floor, and the wide windows are open to let in a rare afternoon breeze. 

Felix looks lovely in the dappled sunlight, and he’s taken to adding some elements of traditional Almyran clothing to his typical Fodlan attire. He’s wearing Almyran-style pants tucked into his favorite boots, and one of those strange high-necked sleeveless shirts he likes, but his braid has the ribbon with bells woven in his dark hair, and he’s got one of Claude’s scarves around his waist like a sash. The mix is aesthetically pleasing, and it will look even better with that collar around his neck. 

“Can’t you just have me kneel and put the collar on me,” Felix asks, glancing at him. His arms migrate over his chest. “I’ll kneel naked in front of your whole court, I don’t care about that. I just don’t think tying me up in ribbons is a good idea.” 

“Felix, you’re just saying that because you don’t know how we are about parties,” Hilda says, her heeled boots clicking smartly on the tile floor as she breezes into the throne room. She presses a kiss to Claude’s cheek. “Didn’t you tell him about our wedding? I jumped over a _fire_ , Felix.” 

“I’ll do that,” Felix puts in, quickly. “That’s fine. Naked. I’ll do it naked. Just...Claude, I can’t actually tell if you’re fucking with me about the ribbons, right now.” 

Hilda giggles. “He doesn’t like the ceremony idea?” 

“It’s -” Felix turns bright red. “I bet you didn’t make Marianne hang from the ceiling.” 

“You’re not hanging,” Claude interrupts. He points up. “You’ll be, y’know. Wrapped in silk. You’ll tumble down from the ceiling, and then I’ll come in and get you down.” 

“By shooting an arrow at me!” Felix exclaims. “An arrow that’s on _fire_.” 

“What, are you worried I’ll miss?” Claude puts his hands on his hips. “I’m pretty good with a bow, you know.” He mimics shooting one, complete with a sound effect. Felix just stares at him. Claude sighs. 

“That isn’t the point.” Felix glances down. “I’m not you, Claude. I don’t like being the center of attention like that.” 

“Claude only likes it if he’s in charge of what kind of attention it is and why he’s getting it,” Hilda says. At Claude’s affronted huff, she shrugs. “What, it’s true. I think it’s going to be great. Almyrans love ceremony, Felix. They’ll love that you’re doing it. And no, I didn’t do it with Mari, but she was already my submissive when I came here.” She smiles sweetly and walks over to pat Felix on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. They’ll probably write a song about it. An opera. Won’t that be nice?” 

“That makes it _worse_ ,” says Felix. “I’m not _you_ , either.” 

“Felix!” Hilda gasps and puts a hand on her chest. “Claude, can I smack him for that?” 

“Sure,” Claude says, and smiles as Hilda’s smack echoes in the empty throne room. Felix only barely catches a moan; though he scowls a bit when Hilda leans in and kisses _his_ cheek, too, right over the reddened skin. 

“You’ll be fine. It’ll be lovely. Stop arguing about parties, those are supposed to be _fun_.” 

“I’m not being collared to _you_ ,” Felix says. There’s the slightest hint of a smile on his face, probably because he likes being smacked in the face more than any submissive Claude’s ever met and wants Hilda to do it again. 

Hilda’s eyebrow raises. “If you were, I’d hang you up in those silks and leave you there until you had a better attitude.” 

“I’d be there forever,” says Felix. He’s outright smiling, now. “ _Forever_.” 

“You’d die up there. Nothing but dusty bones, your hair, your moth-eaten clothes,” Hilda adds. “And still a terrible attitude. But at least you’d look like you’d be smiling, if you were just a skull.” 

“Maybe. But I’d haunt you so you’d know I wasn’t.” 

“Ooh,” Hilda says, wiggling her fingers. “Scary.” 

“If you two are done flirting,” Claude says, shaking his head, but he can’t help the smile of his own. They’re finding their way around each other, Felix and Hilda. It’s sort of cute. Terrifying, maybe. But cute. 

“We’ve received a missive from Emperor Edelgard, who, by the _way_ , Emir called her _Edelgard, Emperor of the Slain Dragon-God_ and that is _entirely_ too cool for her.” 

“Well, sweetheart,” Claude reminds his wife. “She did, you know. Slay a dragon god.” 

“I don’t care,” Hilda says, tossing her hair. “But whatever. She’s still on schedule to visit. Too bad you’ll have Felix collared by then. I wouldn’t mind stringing _her_ up on the ceiling for a few hours.” 

“Hilda,” Claude says. “We should probably not cause another war just because she didn’t ask you on a second date.” 

“Ooh! That’s it, Mr. Leader Man. You can hang up there with Felix.” But she smiles, and kisses him, and then presses her mouth to his ear and murmurs, “Fuck him on that throne, baby. Show him he’s yours and he’ll agree to whatever you want.” 

Heat sparks through him at that, so he grabs her by the back of the neck and kisses her, hotly, hands settling at her waist to pull her against him. “I fucked you over it, and you still argue with me about everything.” 

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me,” she says, spritely, and bites his lower lip. “And I rode you until you begged me on _mine_ , so take _that_ , King Khalid.” 

She’s gone in a whirl of smug satisfaction, bossy dominance, heel-clicks, pink hair and a faint floral scent. Claude smiles after her, a little dopily, maybe, if the look on Felix’s face is anything to go by. “What?” 

“How did that happen, with you two?” Felix asks, waving a hand. “Were you a thing at school?” 

“What?” Claude laughs. “No, no. We were friends, I guess, more than I was with most people. I thought she was hot, but I wasn’t there to make friends.” 

Felix steps closer. “But you obviously...at some point. Became friends.” 

“Yeah. My grandfather’s funeral, actually. She showed up with her father, and we got drunk and messed around. She also -- though I didn’t know this until later -- met my mom, and figured out pretty quick who she was. Hilda’s a lot more clever than she lets on.” 

“But she’s mad at Edelgard about a second date?” 

“No, she’s mad about the war,” Claude corrects, but he thinks about that for a second. “Well. And the no second date. But Hilda’s got sort of a talent for keeping track of grudges.” 

“Great,” Felix mutters. 

“Don’t worry. She likes you. And she has a soft side, just like you do. Just takes a while to get there. Also like you.” He smiles.  
Felix huffs, but he steps in so that he’s very close and surprises Claude by reaching out, stroking his fingers over Claude’s jaw. He’s surprisingly affectionate when he’s under, but this is new, being touched so easily when he’s not. Claude doesn’t move, almost afraid Felix might stop if he does. “I guess you’re good at that.” 

“Maybe. Just like you -- and Hilda -- are good at cutting through people’s bullshit. Hilda might not have seen Edelgard’s war coming, but she wasn’t surprised.” Claude tilts his head, lets Felix touch him. “This is nice. Or are you trying to get out of your ceremony by being sweet?” 

Felix shakes his head. “I’m not -- I couldn’t be _sweet_ if I tried. I can’t help if you look like...this. Standing in the sun. In front of your throne.” Felix scowls, and pulls his hand away. “I fucking hate chivalry, knighthood, all of that. And I just want to. Kneel for you, here.” 

“Go ahead,” Claude says, preening just a bit. He reaches out to curl his hand around Felix’s throat, around the high necked collar of his shirt. “Thrones are symbols of power, dominance. It makes sense. You can kneel if you want, pretty thing. I always like when you want to be on your knees for me.” 

Felix tilts his head. He smiles a little. “And I always like when you make me.” He surprises Claude by leaning in and kissing him. “So you and Hilda, at a funeral?” 

“Well.” Claude kisses him back, lazily, then tugs him toward the dais. “We made out, and talked for a while, and I saw a lot of the person she really is, right, underneath the pillow princess posturing -- I mean, that _is_ part of her, but she was...she grew up around constant fighting, you know? It makes sense that she’d want to get far away from it, and I know she resented Edelgard for starting a war, which is part of why she’s not so fond of her. Anyway, we’d meet up when I was running the Alliance during the war.” He remembers that with fondness, now; the vast, cold bedroom in House Riegan that was his by virtue of being the duke, but was never warm, even with a fire, even though it wasn’t particularly cold outside. 

The entire estate felt wrong, a focal point of a life that was never meant to be his, that he never wanted, that never wanted _him_. Even in Almyra, where he’d had to prove himself over and over again, there was the idea that he _could_. Being at his grandfather’s house never felt that way. Oswald von Riegan made no secret that Claude should be grateful to even be allowed in the house, much less named the heir. He’d hated Claude’s hair, his clothes, his food preferences, the fact it still took him a few seconds to answer to his new name. He’d caught Claude singing in Almyran once and Claude thought he was going to be sent back to his parents right then and there. 

Leaving for Garreg Mach had been a relief, really. 

They’d warmed up to each other a bit more after Edelgard started her campaign against the Church, with Oswald gradually showing some appreciation for Claude’s skill at persuasive speaking and making nobles do what he wanted without revealing the full extent of his natural dominance.

But he never, ever mentioned Claude’s mother, and had refused to allow her name to even be spoken in his presence. There was nothing of her in the manor; no portraits, no momentos, no jewelry, nothing. Just a single book of elementary Almyran, and the only reason Claude knew it was his mother’s is that he recognized her handwriting in the margins. 

And yet, the day Oswald von Riegan died -- with his grandson and heir at his side -- Oswald had reached up, touched Claude’s face and said, “You have your mother’s eyes, Khalid.” 

And then he’d died, and Claude had been fucked up about it enough that he’d gotten drunk alone for the first and only time in his life that night, crying about a man who either never loved him or wanted to but wouldn’t let himself, maybe, because of who he’d once loved and lost. 

Claude had, in that moment, vowed that if he was ever lucky enough to have a family he would never make them feel like they had to prove themselves over and over again just to belong to it. 

He knew his grandfather was a good man and a good ruler for the Alliance, fair and just. Claude recognized little of his mother in Oswald, who was far more formal and stiff than Claude could ever imagine his mother being, but the portrait of the duke’s late wife at least showed Claude where he got his green eyes from, if nothing else. The rest of Claude’s ancestors, displayed in heavy, gilt-framed portraits along the halls, seemed distant and unknowable. 

But there was one of a young man with a hint of his mother’s rakish smile and her same rust-red hair, and he was somehow more vibrant and alive than any of the others in all the portraits hanging in that dim hallway. Claude noticed with delight that he shared his Fodlan name with whoever this fellow was, and decided then and there he must have been the inspiration for his mother in choosing that name before he left Almyra. 

“You married her because you -- loved her, then?” Felix asks, bringing Claude back here, to a sunny throne room and his gorgeous submissive, looking so pretty with the sun picking out the gold in his eyes. 

Claude nods. “Yeah, I did. You sound surprised.” 

“No, I -- well, kings don’t usually do that. Do they?” 

“Here, they do. My father married my mother for love, though I know enough of how they met to think it might have been lust at first. But yeah, I did. Hilda isn’t perfect and she’ll be the first to admit her views on Almyra were...xenophobic is putting it nicely, honestly, but it meant a lot that she worked hard to change her attitude and make changes in her family’s policy at the Throat. But on a personal level...she never bought my bullshit and I never bought hers.” Claude nods toward the dais. “Almyra has two thrones, yeah? I knew my future queen -- or consort -- needed to be someone who, uh. Had a strong personality.” 

“Well,” Felix says. “I think you found someone.”

“That, and -- see, that, there?” Claude smiles and points to the side of the throne, where there’s a pillow. “For the king’s submissive. That’s you.” 

“Right,” Felix says. He sounds amused. 

“You also have a strong personality,” says Claude, grinning. “That’s definitely my type.” He draws Felix closer, kisses his neck. “Now, stop trying to get me to change my mind. I want to show you off. Make my court gasp in delight at you. Like I do.” 

“Goddess,” Felix breathes, head tilting back. “Would you _stop_.” 

“Nope.” Claude bites gently at his neck. “Let me do this, sweet thing. You earned my collar, don’t you want me to show you how proud I am of you? Aren’t you proud of being mine?” 

“Would you just,” Felix says, and sighs. “Of course. Both of those, but I still don’t see why you have to suspend me in ribbons from the ceiling.” 

Claude shrugs. “We like a little pageantry, what can I say. Almyrans might not have collaring ceremonies but like I said, we’re into theatrics. We had aerialists at my wedding, so we’re even used to people tumbling down from the ceilings wrapped in silk.” He nips at Felix’s neck. “And you’re going to look gorgeous, so there’s that.” 

Felix sighs. “I don’t know about that. I’ll look ridiculous. Or I’ll feel ridiculous, and just look pissed off while I’m up there. Then everyone will think you have a bratty submissive who hates his life.” 

“Hmm,” Claude says, and doesn’t bother hiding his smile. “Or they’ll think I’m going to have a lot of fun putting a smile on your face when I finally get you down. Speaking of aerialists, one should be here any second. Or else I really would fuck you over the throne, but I don’t have to, do I?” 

“You don’t _have_ to, no,” says Felix, shifty-eyed. 

Claude smiles in pleasure. “Want to be fucked over the king’s throne, is that it?” 

“I don’t often not want you to fuck me,” Felix says, in a stunning moment of honesty that gets Claude all riled up and just about ready to do it...when he hears a discreet cough and looks over Felix’s shoulder to see the aerialist, Azadi, standing with an amused smile on her face as she takes in the sight of her king making out with his submissive in front of his throne. 

Felix turns bright red up to the tip of his ears, but that’s honestly no less than he deserves for making Claude think about bending him over his throne when he can’t actually do it. Ah, well. Another time. After all, isn’t that what this collaring ceremony is? A promise that he’ll have all the time in the world to make Felix blush, fall apart for him? 

“Your Majesty,” Azadi says. She bows. “I’m here as requested.” 

Claude grins outright and grabs Felix’s hand, pulling him down the steps and across the floor with gusto. “Yes! Azadi, this Felix. Felix, Azadi. She’s going to help me figure out how to truss you up in ribbons.” 

“Great,” says Felix, and sighs. But he bows to Azadi, and offers her a greeting in his halting Almyran -- which is getting better. 

Azadi returns the greeting and then says to Claude, “Your Majesty, I’ve been learning Fodlan, may I greet your submissive in his native tongue?” 

That’s unexpected. “Sure, of course.” 

Azadi beams at Felix and says brightly, “Hello, greetings to you, Felix who submits to our king. I will be tying you up today!” 

Felix’s ears go red again, but he says, slowly and carefully the way you do when you speak to someone just learning a language, “That’s, ah. Thank you, yes, all right.” 

Azadi nods, then says in Fodlan -- and with a touch of natural dominance -- “Please become naked now, submissive of the king!” 

Claude tugs Felix in to kiss him. “You heard the lady,” he says, and watches as Felix sighs, shakes his head, and goes to take his shirt off. 

***  
Felix bolts for the training ground after their meeting, half-hard and almost under from being moved around by Claude and Azadi both as she figured out how best to make Claude’s idea work. 

“He’s pretty,” Azadi says, watching a flushed-face and hastily-dressed Felix throw a bow before departing. “Are they all like that, in Fodlan?” Her eyes gleam. “I will learn the tongue better. Go there and find one for me. You’ve inspired me, Your Majesty.” 

Claude gives her a delighted smile. “I’m honored to hear that. Hey, let me ask you -- why did you decide to learn the Fodlan tongue? You can answer me in Fodlan if you want,” he adds, in case she wants to practice. 

“Ah.” She waves a hand. “I don’t know if my grasp on it is good enough, but I will try.” She clears her throat like she’s going to make a speech. “Peace is to come. You, the king, will --” she frowns. “Showing off? Almyra. To the world. I will like -- would like -- to show the -- the talent of the silk-walking.” She frowns, then switches back. “Was that right?” 

“That was great,” Claude praises. “You want to go and show off your aerialist skills to the world after the borders are open?” 

She nods. “Oh, yes! Several of us wish to travel there, see what it is like. My aunt, she used to fight in the games where your father, Lord Malik, met your mother. But I think the world is weary of battles. Almyra is more than just swords and wyverns and bows. We are fierce in our art, too. The world should see that. Not that I would disparage your lord father for his battle-prowess, or you, as my king. But I want the world to know that Almyra is more than they think. I love my country. I want to show the world maybe they could love it, too.” 

Touched, Claude grants her a deep respectful bow and vows to make sure she’s set in the finest silks for the rest of her life for her career. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. If you would like, perhaps I could speak to the queen’s submissive to see if she would like to help you with your Fodlan? I would offer up the services of my own, but I think he’s better suited to help you learn swordplay. And the queen is not as, ah. Fluent in our tongue yet as Marianne.” 

Azadi claps, the bells on her wrists jingling. “I would like that very much, Your Majesty. You are a good king. I know there are some who doubted you, and will, because that is the way of people, isn’t it? What you are doing, though, so many of us want it. It’s time. We will be your silks, King Khalid. And we will not let you fall.” She bows. “Now I will go to work on this for your pretty submissive.” 

Claude’s eyes go bright and he nods, a bit too overcome for words. When she’s gone he’s left standing there alone in front of the twin thrones of Almyra, sunlight bathing the room in gold. As he thinks about her words, he realizes how much he’s struggled himself, caught in the bindings of his responsibilities, his duties, his constant fear of not being good enough or accepted. 

Maybe it’s time to let himself believe that there really are people there to catch him, if he needs them. This entire thing, his elaborate ceremony of silks and ribbons, falling and trusting that you’ll be caught...maybe it’s not just for Felix. Maybe it’s for him, too. 

***  
“Would you just -- stand still, Khalid,” Hilda bosses him, from where she’s reclining in their suite, actually eating grapes out of a dish while she watches Marianne very patiently helping him into his royal raiment. “Marianne, just kick him if he won’t stop squirming.” 

“I don’t think I’ll do that, Hilda, but thank you for the suggestion,” Marianne says. She smiles sweetly at Claude. “Your Majesty, you are making this difficult and please, you know I like to do my tasks to perfection.” 

“Ha! That’s it, baby girl.” Hilda pops a grape in her mouth as smugly as possible, which for her, is a whole lot of smugness. “Look at her, Claude. Make her sad and you know how that’s gonna go.” 

Claude rolls his eyes and looks at Marianne, giving her a sheepish smile. “I know. I’m sorry. I can also do this myself, you know.” 

“Yes, but I enjoy it. When you’re still,” Marianne adds, raising her brows. “You look very dashing, Claude.” 

“Hot as fuck,” Hilda agrees. “Almost as good as me. We’re gonna have the cutest kids, Claude. They’ll be terrors, probably --” 

“Probably?” Claude snorts. 

“But cute ones,” Hilda finishes. “Speaking of cute terrors, is Felix still mad about this whole thing?” 

“Nah.” Claude tilts his chin up as Marianne attends to the buttons at the top of his formal coat. “I mean, he’s not mad, he’s just dreading the attention. But I also think he’s made friends with Azadi --” 

“Who wouldn’t, she’s so hot,” Hilda says, sighing. 

“Indeed,” Marianne murmurs, blushing a bit. “Her Fodlan is coming along well. And she’s teaching me Almyran, too.” 

Claude wags his eyebrows. “All the ladies love an aerialist. You’re both right, she’s lovely, and she also has intrigued Felix enough about the strength and athleticism necessary for silks that I think he’s less cranky about it.” 

“He’s just hanging up there,” Hilda says, dryly. “Or, I guess he has the one trick, the tumbling. But that’s more gravity than anything.” 

“Yeah? Let’s see you try it,” Claude says. 

Hilda shrugs. “I’d rather watch other people do it for my entertainment.” 

“Of course you would.” Claude smiles at her in affection. “Also, speaking of looking gorgeous, my queen, flower of my garden, raindrop of my sunshower, you look magnificent.” 

“Ugh, stop it,” Hilda says, but she laughs. She does look beautiful in her queenly raiment, which is unfairly a lot easier to put on than Claude’s but the one he pointed that out, she kicked him in the shin and said _try wearing a corset and six layers of petticoats and dealing with my hair_ , which was mildly unfair because Claude does have to deal with Hilda’s hair, it gets everywhere all the time. He’s had meetings with his advisors where they will cough politely and point to a long strand of pink caught on the lapel of his tunic.

“I spoke with Felix,” Marianne says, finishing with him and giving him an appraising glance. “Your Majesty, you should wear the topaz earring today. It will match Felix’s eyes.” 

“Oh, I’m so proud of you,” Hilda says, with a sigh. “I’ve taught you accessories.” 

“Sure,” Claude says, rustling through the drawer until he finds the earring. “And you spoke with Felix, huh? Is he feeling all right?” 

“He’s nervous, so he’s a bit cranky,” says Marianne, which is sort of adorable and also probably an understatement. “But I think maybe he’s come around to the idea of showing off for you. I tried to explain why I like doing it for Hilda, how it made me feel like I was worthy.” 

“Aw, baby,” says Hilda. “That’s so sweet.” 

“I’m not sure if he completely agreed, but I _do_ think he likes the idea of you doing it because you’re proud of him. Even if I don’t know that he’d admit it.” Marianne smooths Claude’s hair back and smiles at him. “I think you’re all ready. Just need your quiver, don’t forget that.” 

“Right.” Claude leans in and kisses her on the cheek. “Thanks, Marianne. For talking to him.” 

She gives him a small smile and pats him on the shoulder. “He’s no trouble, really.” 

Hilda snorts. “Given you’re used to me, probably not.” 

Marianne turns and beams at her. “You’re really no trouble, either.” 

“What about me, huh?” Claude puts his hands on his hips and flashes a grin. “I wanna be trouble.” 

“You are,” Hilda says, dryly. 

Marianne gives a little bow. “I understand Felix, in a way. With both of us, the person who causes us the most trouble is always ourselves.” 

“Marianne, you’re a gem.” Claude affixes his quiver, the fancy one that his father gave him, etched in gold threads and showing a wyvern flanked by tiny, intricate stars. He rubs his fingers over the leather and remembers his father showing it to him when he was little, how majestic King Malik always looked decked out in his royal raiment. His father went around in riding leathers or simple tunics more often than not, but the image of him, tall and broad-shouldered, with the crown of Almyra resting low on his brow, is forever etched in Claude’s mind. 

He stares at himself in the mirror, wearing the same royal garments and looking much different than the former king. He’s slighter of build, his beard isn’t nearly as majestic and his eyes are his mother’s mossy-green instead of his father’s deep black. The first few times he donned the royal regalia he felt a little like an imposter, or a kid playing dress up. He wears it better, now, he thinks. Maybe he’s not entirely comfortable quite yet, but it gets easier each time. 

He pushes back his hair and strategically places the crown to keep it from falling into his eyes, wondering if his ancestors used it as a glorified headband, too, and if they _also_ kept it in their dresser like Claude does. It’s just a symbol, really. He could put it on one of the palace cats, that wouldn’t make it the king. 

It would be funny, though. Maybe it’d start up a rumor he could turn into a cat at will. Useful for avoiding council meetings. 

“Claude,” Hilda says, stepping next to him. She reaches up to adjust his crown, smiles, and pulls at his arm. “As much as I love the idea of leaving Felix tied up and being cranky, we should probably go before he figures out a way to get out and escape to the training room.” 

Claude almost says _he wouldn’t dare_ , but Felix probably _would_ , so instead he says, “You’re right. Ready, everyone?” 

“Sure,” says Hilda, sliding her arm in his. “Let’s go put that collar on Felix and have a _party_.” 

***  
Felix wonders for the thousandth time how he let Claude talk him into this. 

“How are you?” 

That from Azadi, who is standing on the ground and staring up at him with a look halfway between a grin and the discerning gaze of a professional. She likes speaking in Fodlan for practice, which is great, because Felix isn’t sure he could remember any Almyran at the moment, even the dirty words Claude’s taught him or the curses he’s learned from Hilda. 

“Fine,” says Felix, which is a lie. He is not fine.

He’s naked, with red and gold silk ribbons on his wrists, his ankles, his thighs, wrapped over his cock, braided into his hair and tied around his waist like some kind of birthday gift. He’s also essentially wrapped up in blue silk that is supposed to represent either Fodlan or Faerghus, he’s not entirely sure if it’s one or both. Felix has one thing to do, which is to tip forward so he’ll tumble down and let the silk unravel, leaving him hanging a few inches above the floor by the silks at his wrists. 

Then Claude is going to shoot through the silk with a flaming arrow.

Felix will fall to his feet, then kneel in nothing but the red and gold ribbons to show he’s left his past behind and become an Almyran. 

Felix is still not sure he’s not going to end up falling flat on his face in front of however many people are showing up to watch him take Claude’s collar, and he’s not sure why the arrow has to be on _fire_ , but then again, it’s Claude. 

It’s not like Felix didn’t expect that whatever ceremony Claude devised would be theatrical and multi-purposeful; he’s the king, and he’s essentially bringing Felix into his family. He wants a clear, symbolic and unmistakable gesture that Felix is no longer a Fodlaner, but an Almyran, and that he should be accepted here. Felix doesn’t even care about being naked or on display, and Marianne’s words about _he’s showing you off because he’s proud of you_ really did go a long way making Felix understand why Claude wanted to do this in such a theatrical way. 

And besides, Felix actually likes the aerialist, Azadi, even if their communication is a bit stilted with the language barrier. He doesn’t even hate learning how to do this one very particular skill with the silks; there’s an athleticism to it that he finds appealing, enough that he’s considered adding it to his training regimen just for the core strength benefits and the flexibility.

It’s not even the spectacle, though this is nothing Felix would have ever sought out on his own. It’s the fear that he’ll do something wrong and embarrass his dominant, who happens to be the _king_ , in front of the assembled crowd. 

“How is it?” Azadi calls up at him. “Okay?” 

“Yeah,” Felix says, shifting a bit in the silks. His heart is racing a bit too fast, as it must be getting time for this thing to start. Once he’s out of the silks and has Claude’s collar, Felix is fairly sure he’ll be so under the rest of the night won’t be any problem at all. 

He wonders what it will be like, having it there all the time. To touch it, absently, the way Marianne does sometimes. Just to make sure it’s there. Reassure herself that she belongs. 

“Remember, yes? Relax into the fall. Or you, you will.” She says something he doesn’t know in Almyran, following it up with a bunch of hand gestures that do nothing to clarify her meaning. 

_Go smash_ seems to be the point. Right. 

“I remember,” Felix says, because he does know the most important part is not to fight the silks, to let himself trust the fall, believe that the silk will catch him. Then all he has to do is let Claude get him out of the silk and kneel for him. 

_Just let Claude help you untangle yourself from the past and kneel for him._ It’s not even subtle, is it? Effective, certainly. But not subtle. 

“You will be good,” Azadi says, tipping her face to smile up at him. “Good student. Come again, yes, after? I’ll show you more tricks.” 

He’s surprised to find that he likes the idea, and he nods as best he can all trussed up as he is. She gives him a smart little bow and then she’s gone, leaving Felix momentarily alone, suspended by silk, wreathed in ribbons, as the setting sun turns the throne room to gold. 

“Ah, look at you,” a voice murmurs. “I’m tempted to get Azadi to put one of these in the royal residences. Keep you like this anytime you get cranky.” 

“I’ll kill you,” Felix says, twisting a bit. He can hear Claude, but not see him. “Somehow. I’ll find a way.” 

Claude’s laugh is as warm as the sunlight. “I bet.” There’s footsteps, and then he strolls into Felix’s field of vision, and Felix’s breath catches. He’s never seen Claude in his full regalia before, and he looks...like a king. And it’s not even the crown or the clothes, it’s his bearing; the tilt of his chin, the set of his shoulders. The way he’s looking at Felix wrapped up in the silks, pleased like he’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted. “You look amazing, though.”

“So do you,” Felix says, and he can feel himself going under just from this; Claude’s praise, his dominance, the restraints that suddenly feel a lot more like being bound than trussed up for a performance. His cock starts to harden under Claude’s gaze. 

“I was going to make sure you were okay, but it seems like you’re doing just fine to me,” Claude says. 

Felix stares down at him. “I can’t believe you got me to do this.” 

“Honestly? I can’t, either. Good job, me.” 

“You can’t tell,” Felix says, “but I’m flipping you off right now.” 

Claude laughs outright. “You’re such a brat. Come on, you have to admit I’m good at meaningful ceremonial gestures.” 

“You’re good at something,” says Felix, twisting a bit. He can see what that does to Claude, watching him writhe in the silks, and Felix likes it. Now that he’s found someone for whom he wants to kneel, he’s starting to play with the power he has a submissive, to get that look on Claude’s face. To be on the receiving end of his attention. To have Claude be _proud_ of him. To feel worthy. 

He lowers his gaze, which suddenly burns hot with unshed tears. 

“You really are something. Do you know why I wanted you to do this part, where you fall for me when I walk in?” 

Felix gets his emotions under control and focuses back on Claude. “Because you’re you?” 

“Ha, ha. No, Fox-cub. It’s because I know you don’t go down easy, and I like that you do it because you want to. For me.” Claude’s not smiling, now, and his eyes are bright, intense in a way he doesn’t often show anyone else. “My mother spoke once about how it felt to leave Fodlan, how she knew it didn’t make sense to people because she was the daughter of a duke. She said just because her chains were made of silk, they were still chains. She chose to cast them off and come here, to be happy, and I want that for you, too.” 

“King Khalid,” Felix says, softly, more fond than is his wont. “They did well, calling you Silver-Tongued.” 

“Didn’t they,” Claude says, and touches his fingers to his mouth, then taps them on his chest over his heart, the romantic bastard. “Hey. I love you.” 

Felix makes a face at him. “Why are you like this?” 

“I just am. But I want you to know. I love you, and that’s why it’s your choice. If you don’t want to fall for me, you don’t have to. If you do, I’ll be there to catch you. Yeah?” 

Felix sighs. Something warm and sweet echoes through those empty places inside of him. “I already fell for you, you know. You didn’t have to get me to do it literally to prove it.” 

“I know. But I could, and you look gorgeous, and like I said. Almyrans like our pageantry. The sun’s about to set, so people will be here in a bit. But remember what I said. Even if you’re not ready, that’s all right.” 

“If I wasn’t ready, you wouldn’t have gotten me up here in the first place,” Felix points out. 

Claude flashes that grin of his again, the one that makes his eyes bright like emeralds, the one that makes him so utterly gorgeous that Felix can’t quite breathe. “I really am going to be smug about that forever, you know.” 

“Like I expected anything else.” Felix shifts a bit in the silks, watching as the light turns from gold to red as the sun sets. “Hey. Claude.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I want you to know that ....” He’s no good with this stuff, words have never been easy for him, but especially not ones that make him feel flayed open, vulnerable. “I think this is, uh, a lot, but...I want to do it. For you, and also for me.” 

Claude’s voice is soft. “Good. I’m glad.” 

Felix draws in a shaky breath, and he can’t make himself say anything else. He watches Claude leave, and he thinks about what this means, this ceremony; ignores the people filing in and the way they whisper, their Almyran coming too fast and quiet for him to understand. He hears Hilda, who wolf-whistles at him, her laugh a bright sound in the rising din of voices. She takes a seat on her throne, Marianne in her submissive’s robe, kneeling lovely and smiling at her side. She gives Felix a little wave. 

He thinks about Faerghus, and Fraldarius, and where he came from. This is the choice he’s making, not to forget the past but to untangle himself from it. Like the wyvern on his submissive’s robe, the red ribbons are adornments, not shackles. Faerghus will always be a part of him. So will Fodlan, Fraldarius, the cold sea where he grew up, the friends he’s lost. Dimitri. He’s not forgetting them, he’s just letting himself find a life that isn’t tied to everything he was expected to become. 

He can choose to let go. 

He thinks about this as the sun sets, the dark brightened by torches lit around the edge of the throne room. Felix can hear the hush the moment Claude enters even if he can’t see him, and then he’s there, standing serious and proud in front of his dais, facing Felix. He speaks in Almyran and Felix sort of knows what he’s saying, at least gets the gist of it, and settles fully into the silks, waiting. 

Someone brings a torch over and stands next to Claude, who draws an arrow from his quiver, twirls it in his fingers like he used to, back at school. He turns and touches the tip to the torch; it brightens with fire, and there’s a resulting gasp from the crowd. Claude’s smile is one of pure smug satisfaction as he strings up his flaming arrow. He turns toward Felix and draws it back in the string of the bow. 

It’s so ridiculously sexy that Felix almost forgets it’s time for him to fall. 

In the end, there’s no grand gesture or dramatic revelation that makes him do it; just the simple thought that he wants to stay here, wants to belong, wants to be happy. That he’s worthy of the king standing in front of him. That the king is worthy of _him_. 

Felix takes a deep breath, relaxes, and tips forward in the silks. 

He’s done this over and over again in practice with Azadi, but it feels different this time; the weightlessness isn’t just from tumbling down the silk, but letting the thousands of ties to his past gently untangle and slide away. All in all, it takes less than five seconds, but somehow it feels like an eternity and an instant all at once. As Felix descends, the blue silk falls away, revealing flashes of the gold-and-red ribbons adorning his body. 

He ends in the position he’s supposed to, the blue silk only wrapped now around his wrists, him hovering just a bit over the floor. There’s another gasp as Claude fires the arrow, and a few seconds later the silk gives and Felix lands catlike on his feet. When the last of the blue silk is gone, he sinks to his knees and bows his head, hands behind his back. 

There’s a quiet moment of breathlessness, and then a lot of noise, maybe applause, some shouting, but Felix doesn’t really parse it or pay much attention. All he’s aware of is Claude walking behind him, sliding a collar around his neck and buckling it like it’s always meant to be there. 

Felix breathes in, steady and deep, while behind him, the silk that bound him to his old life burns to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a bit to be finished/posted! I had to remind myself that I am literally writing this because it's fun and helping me through a stressful few months, and that I can be as indulgent with it as I want, so. Luckily I'm back in the right frame of mind, which is why you just got Felix the Aerialist Bedecked in Ribbons.
> 
> Anyway, I super appreciate everyone who is reading, it means so much that people have connected with this weird, niche little AU of mine. Two chapters and an epilogue to go! Thank you again for reading <3


	18. old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor of Fodlan and her retinue visit Almyra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> canon-divergence ahoy -- there was no actual battle at Derdriu! Claude met with Edelgard the night before and agreed to leave if his friends were spared (this is sort of foreshadowed in the mention, earlier, of Claude's strategy of the Eagle and Lion where he lost but all his housemates survived). I had a whole thing written for that as a flashback, but it was a bit cumbersome, so I might save it for a one-shot later. 
> 
> Thanks to Mxticketyboo for reading this over!

The Emperor of Fodlan arrives in Almyra toward the end of the rainy season, mid-afternoon, her retinue in tow.

It’s been years since Claude saw her at Derdriu, the night before the battle that wasn’t, but she doesn’t look that much different. She’s still lovely as ever, snow-white hair covered by her blood-red traveling cloak, having escaped the worst of the mud, if not the rain. She’s wearing her crown, of course, though he has a suspicion she probably stopped once the palace was in view and put it on. He would, if his were that cumbersome.

Next to her, as ever, stands Hubert; dressed in black traveling clothes, wearing his black collar and usual severe expression. And next to him is someone Claude also hasn’t seen since Derdriu.

“Greetings, King Khalid, Silver-Tongued. I bid you peaceful tidings from Fodlan, land where I rule, and thank you for this welcome to your house,” Edelgard says, in near-perfect Almyran. She bows to Claude, who nods, and then Edelgard turns to Hilda.

“Greetings to you as well, Queen Hilda, Wielder of the Silver Axe. I bring you peaceful tidings, and am honored to be welcomed here, to your court.”

“Bet that just killed her to have to say that,” Hilda whispers to Claude, but not quietly.

Claude sees a flicker of a smile on Edelgard’s face as she bows, one hand over her heart.

Claude rises from his throne and says, in slow, clear Almyran, “Welcome, Emperor Edelgard. You and yours are honored guests of our court and will be treated with the respect of your titles.”

With that out of the way, Claude bounds down the stairs and says in Fodlan, grinning, “Long time no see, Princess. Still gorgeous as ever.”

“Claude,” Edelgard says, and there’s that small little smile on her mouth. “Still as impertinent as ever, yourself. You look well. The crown suits you.”

“Thanks! Hubert, nice to see you again.” Claude turns to Edelgard’s faithful vassal and submissive with a half-bow. “I was hoping to finally have that game of chess we never got around to back at school.”

“Because _someone_ decided to overthrow the--,” Hilda starts, and Claude hears Marianne delicately clear her throat from where she’s kneeling on her pillow next to Hilda’s throne.

“I look forward to it, Your Majesty,” Hubert says, bowing.

“I bring greetings to your royal submissives,” Edelgard acknowledges. “But I am, if you’ll forgive me, at a loss for Almyran protocol in doing so. If you would be so gracious as to let me know what it is, I will see it followed.”

“Oh, you can just say hi,” Claude says, waving a hand toward Felix, who is kneeling -- no pillow at his insistence, since apparently he wants to make some kind of _point_. “I don’t know that we _have_ protocol, but if I come up with some, I’ll let you know. Marianne is, in our tongue, called Bird-Singer, and Felix, Fox-Cub.”

Edelgard’s eyebrows raise at that, but she says, “Then I bring greetings to your honored submissives, Marianne, Bird-Singer, and Felix, Fox-Cub. I will learn how to say this in your language, so that I may do so properly.”

“Great,” says Claude, and then chases the grin off his face and turns to the only person he hasn’t said hello to, yet. His brows draw down, and he makes his voice full of dominance as he points a finger at the slight figure and says, “But first? You’ll get this traitor out of my hall before I have her beheaded.”

There’s a moment of absolute silence, and Claude can see Edelgard’s brief surprise quickly replaced by confusion and then a careful, blank stare.

“I beg your _pardon_ ,” Hubert says, soft and dangerous.

Next to him, Claude sees Felix shift on his knees.

And the person he’s pointing at sighs, crosses her arms and says in a huffy voice, “I can’t believe you really did it, you beast.”

Claude finally loses his scowl and throws his head back, laughing as he catches the slight woman up in a massive hug. “That’s what, three bullion worth of gold you owe me? With interest? It’s at least that much.”

“Bill the treasury,” she mutters, and hits him on the arm. “And put me _down_.”

Claude returns her to her feet, and grins at her. “I’m so glad you came. Edelgard’s _face_ , though, like I was really going to behead you. You look great, by the way.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Claude,” says Lysithea von Ordelia, the sole reason there was no battle at Derdriu and the reason he probably lived to take his throne. She raises one pale brow at him. “Should I call you King Khalid?”

“Call me whatever you want, it’s fine,” Claude says, and turns apologetically to Edelgard. “We had a little bet. I can explain later.”

“There’s no need,” Edelgard says, calmly. “My fiancee of course explained to me the reason why she was sent to join my house back at school. You’re clever, King Khalid, but your schemes have improved in subtlety with age.”

Claude opens his mouth to respond to that, then the words catch up with him. He blinks. “Did you say your...fiancee?”

Lysithea shrugs. “Yeah, that happened.”

Behind him, Marianne laughs in delight. “Oh, Lysithea, good for _you_.”

***  
“It’s not really that surprising, is it?” Lysithea asks, later, when the Fodlan retinue have returned from freshening up in the lavish suites Claude appointed them.

He’s not above showing off Almyran luxuries to a visiting monarch with whom he’s determined to sign a peace treaty.

Lysithea’s damp hair is braided and she’s dressed in fresh clothes, sipping tea and immediately trying every sweet thing the palace chefs prepared for her. She seems especially fond of the sugared orange slices.

“I mean, I don’t know how to answer that,” Claude says, popping one of the candies in his mouth. It’s so sweet it makes his back teeth ache, so, probably perfect for her. “My whole goal was that you’d end up my spy, not the emperor’s consort.”

Lysithea just shrugs one shoulder and steals another orange slice. “You know they figured out why I was there pretty quick, Claude. Edelgard’s right. You’re smart but subtlety wasn’t your strong suit back then.”

“Ah, well, I have my friend marrying the Emperor of Fodlan, so, there,” Claude says. “Still friends, right?”

“That doesn’t make you subtle, it makes you lucky,” Lysithea says, but her voice is fond. “It didn’t happen until after the war, if that’s what you want to know. And yes, still friend, as long as you stop eating all the candy, I’m your _guest_.”

“Oh, trust me, I want to know everything,” Claude says, cheerfully. He leans in and says, in a low voice, “I thought -- Ferdinand and Hubert, and Edelgard…?”

“You have a submissive, a wife who has her own submissive, it’s not that different, is it?” Lysithea steals the last candy, smirking a bit at him as she eats it with relish. “Edelgard isn’t interested in a successor and Ferdinand and Hubert are married--”

“Wait, they are?”

Lysithea rolls her eyes. “Didn’t Felix tell you?”

“You vastly overestimate Felix’s ability to notice anything close to _other people’s romantic relationships_ ,” says Claude. “I love him, but it’s true.”

Lysithea smiles. “You’re welcome.”

He blinks, then realizes what she’s saying. “It was your idea, sending him here?”

She nods. “Yeah. He was miserable in Enbarr, and I put the idea to Edelgard. I thought, you know, maybe he’d do well here. He’s impossible. You like impossible things. Was I wrong?”

“No, but...why?” Claude asks, genuinely curious.

Lysithea adds more sugar to tea, which must be nothing but sugared water at this point. “I chose to stay with Edelgard when she declared war. It was because what happened to me, mages forcing crests on me...it happened to her, too. So I guess I understood why he thought he betrayed Dimitri, and part of me felt like I betrayed _you_.”

“If you hadn’t stayed with her, there’s no telling if she would have agreed to meet before Derdriu,” says Claude, reaching out to pat her hand. “Things might have ended a lot differently, if we’d had to fight that battle.”

“It might have ended a lot differently if Felix had stayed with Dimitri, too,” says Lysithea, with her usual bluntness. “Or if Mercedes hadn’t decided to stay with her brother, and saved Sylvain. The point is, I know why I chose to stay with her and this is before…” her cheeks turn pink. “Before anything happened. I still felt bad about it. I could have left, she gave us the choice, and I didn’t. Felix could have fought, and he didn’t. We both had our reasons. I respect that.”

“Sure,” Claude agrees, taking up one of the slices of wyvernfruit that will absolutely be too bitter for her. “But that’s not really an answer.”

“I know how you are about loyalty,” Lysithea says. “And I’m...grateful, to you. For sending me to the Black Eagles, sure, but mostly because you never minded that I stayed.”

Claude hadn’t seen the point in being mad about that, but all he says is, “I was just glad we didn’t have to fight. You’re terrifying, you know.”

She smiles. “I know I am.”

“And like I said, you running interference before Derdriu saved a lot of lives, Lysithea. Mine, maybe, and a bunch of people I care about. Including you.” He lifts his teacup. “Though if you killed me, I bet you would have been quick about it.”

“Sure. But Felix saved lives, too, by not sending his battalion off to a war they couldn’t win,” she says bluntly. “My point is I thought he’d do well here and he did, clearly. He’s wearing your collar.” She smiles. “You were also fairly in need of a submissive, if Marianne’s letters were to be believed.”

“Marianne wrote you letters about me needing a submissive?”

“Yes, among other things, of course.” She narrows her bright violet eyes at him. “You’re not going to think that’s treason now that you know I’m engaged to Edelgard, are you?”

“What? No, of course not. When’s the wedding, by the way? Am I invited?”

“Uh,” Lysithea says. “Not that I don’t want you there, obviously, but are you even able to attend?”

“I’m the king, I can travel,” Claude says. “I can leave Hilda here to rule, but it’d be way more fun if she came with me.” He leans forward. “You know her and Edelgard, once --”

“I know,” Lysithea says, and then smirks. “I keep wondering if I should mention how I got that second date and Hilda didn’t.”

Probably she shouldn’t, but it makes Claude laugh to think about her doing it anyway. He grins at her over the tea table. “I’m glad you came along. I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t keep my promise to call you a traitor.”

“I thought maybe being king would lend you some maturity,” says Lysithea, but she’s not quite quick enough to hide her smile in her teacup. “I should have known better.”

“Probably,” says Claude, and laughs.

***  
Dinner is served in one of the more relaxed formal dining rooms, and it goes well enough that Claude thinks perhaps they’ll move to the informal space in the royal residence before the visit is over. Provided Hilda will agree.

She’s mostly on her best behavior, dressed like a queen in the Almyran style and wearing her crown even though there’s really no reason to. It looks lovely on her, but most things do.

Marianne, lovely in her submissive’s robe and her hair unbound, is kneeling quietly at Hilda’s side and smiling softly at Lysithea, who is sitting next to her fiancee and who looks very smart in her dark robes of office as the Imperial Court Mage. Hubert is kneeling next to Edelgard. Claude notices he’s wearing a wedding ring in the Adrestian style, which, well, they always had been sort of at each other, hadn’t they?

“You didn’t bring your prime minister,” Claude says, and sees Hubert’s pale green eyes flicker briefly to his.

“Someone has to stay behind and make sure things are going smoothly in the capital,” Edelgard says. “Ferdinand and I might have butt heads occasionally in the past --”

“In the _past_ ,” Lysithea says, dryly, and Claude’s shocked to hear _Hubert_ , of all people, give a soft snort of laughter.

Everyone’s mellowed, it seems.

“Yes, well,” Edelgard says, and smiles. “Perhaps it’s not as common as it was, but there are times we don’t always agree. Still, I trust him not to turn Fodlan into a dictatorship in the time we’ll be gone.”

As far as a state dinner goes, it’s not terribly unpleasant; Claude’s certainly sat through worse. As a visit with old friends, it’s only a little awkward given a few years ago, they’d been trying to kill each other. Not quite on the level of awkwardness that was meeting with Edelgard before Derdriu, but close.

That had ended all right, but Claude still wonders, sometimes, what would have happened if Edelgard rejected his request for parlay. If they could have won. What would have happened, if his forces had been victorious. Would Claude have killed Edelgard? Would Lysithea, who brokered the midnight rendezvous that kept them from meeting on the battlefield, have avenged Edelgard, if Claude _had_ killed her?

Would Claude have cost his friends their lives and lost his own head?

Edelgard is regarding him steadily, her violet eyes calm and serene. “It’s never a worthwhile pastime, Your Majesty,” she says, softly. “Indulging in what-ifs.” She smiles at his somewhat startled expression. “I know the feeling.”

Claude studies her, wondering what sort of things keep the Emperor of Fodlan up at night. If she would tell him, if he asked. Probably not. She’s a woman who knows how to guard her secrets, if nothing else.

Edelgard raises one pale brow at him, as if waiting for him to ask.

He gives her an easy smile and picks up his goblet of icy-cold wyvernfruit water, shrugging. “I’m more interested in moving forward with our peace talks, your majesty. Let’s focus on that.”

“Indeed, but if we could dispense with the titles, Claude -- or do you prefer Khalid?” she asks, taking a piece of warm flatbread from the table. “I realized I didn’t ask.”

“Either’s fine, really. At this point, I’ll answer to both easy enough.”

“It’s interesting,” she says, “that you don’t use surnames in Almyra. The sobriquets, do they change over time?”

“Kinda depends, really,” Claude says. “Less changing, more you just tack a few on there as you earn them. Supposedly, my great-great-grandfather, he had so many - and insisted they be read out before every council meeting -- that it took forty-five minutes to announce him.”

Edelgard gives him a suspicious look. “Is that true?”

Claude flashes his old grin at her and winks. “Sure. Visit the memorial gardens, out past the city square, and you’ll see his stele. It’s got all his sobriquets on there. I remember my father telling me the person who inscribed it did it all in one night, and had such bad arthritis he never chiseled a thing again.” Claude pauses. “That part’s probably not true, though.”

Edelgard laughs, a girlish sound that startles him until he realizes why; he’s probably never heard her actual laugh, before. “And is that what you’ll do, King Khalid the Silver-Tongued? Amass a thousand names and insist they all be read to announce you?”

“Nah. I don’t have the patience for long meetings.”

“You have a few sobriquets, you know,” Hilda says, sweetly, to Edelgard. “It’s not just Almyrans who get them.”

“Hilda,” says Claude, shaking his head.

“I’m sure,” Edelgard demurs. “I can only imagine what they are.”

“They call you _Slayer of the Dragon-God_ ,” Claude says.

Edelgard tilts her head, considering. “I quite like that one.’

“And _The Butcher of Fodlan_ ,” Hilda says, like she can’t help herself.

“Not untrue, I suppose,” says Edelgard, unruffled.

“What’s yours?” Lysithea asks. “Queen Hilda, _Introducer of Inappropriate Dinner Party Conversational Topics_?”

Claude chokes on his sip of water.

“That’s a little long for a sobriquet,” Hilda says, lazily, waving a hand. “Do better.”

“Queen Hilda, _The Mannerless_?” Lysithea asks. She’s smiling, and there’s something like fondness in there somewhere.

“Stop it or you don’t get any cake,” Hilda says, and Lysithea laughs.

“Don’t be offended about _butcher_ ,” Claude says, to Edelgard. “Almyrans love warriors. My father is called King Malik, Conqueror of the Starry Skies. Almyra has respect for your military prowess, and the dragon you slayed...it wasn’t one of ours, so that’s fine, too.”

“I’m not offended,” Edelgard assures him. She shrugs. “I started a war. It’s pointless to pretend I didn’t. If the reforms I want are carried out, history is free to remember me however they wish.”

“Fair enough.” The conversation turns to other topics, and Claude reaches out to thread his fingers through Felix’s dark braid. He’s kneeling there at Claude’s side, quiet, in his submissive’s robes. He’s spoken very little to anyone save Marianne since their dinner started, but that’s not unusual. He’s not a terribly garrulous man by any stretch of the imagination.

Still. Claude’s fingers trail over the teal leather of his collar, feeling the low burn of satisfaction that hasn’t dimmed since he put it there. He drags his nails up the back of Felix’s neck and smiles as he hears Felix’s soft inhale of breath.

“You can stop looking at me like that,” Felix says, though he keeps his gaze lowered. “I’m not. I’m fine.”

“I like looking at you,” Claude says, and pulls his hair, hard, just to hear the bells wound in the ribbons jingle, and to hear another one of those soft, quiet gasps. “And don’t tell me what to do, Fox-Cub.”

“You’re fussing,” says Felix.

Claude pulls his braid, yanking Felix’s head back. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Felix says, eyes sliding half-closed, a pleased little smile on his face.

Claude laughs outright and leans down to kiss him, biting sharply on his lower lip. “Such a brat in front of our esteemed guests, Fox-Cub,” he says, in Almyran.

Felix’s Almyran is far from fluent, but he definitely knows the term for his sobriquet and the word brat, since Claude calls him that often enough.

“How’s Teach?” Claude asks Edelgard, once they’re finished with dinner and waiting for the servants to bring in the dessert course. It’s cake, for Lysithea, and some dessert that’s on fire because why not be a little theatrical and show off, when you’re entertaining an emperor?

“He and Jeritza are well,” Edelgard says. “They’ve been routing some, ah. Bandits, near Hrym territory.”

Claude knows exactly what they’re doing and who they’re routing -- relations are peaceful enough between Fodlan and Almyra, even without a peace treaty, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t spies reporting back to him. “Ah. I’m sure they’ll make short work of them. You’ll have to send my regards, and an invitation. I’d like to see Byleth again.”

Edelgard nods. “I’ll pass that along, certainly. We’re supposed to meet them at Garreg Mach after we visit Faerghus.”

Next to him, Felix sits up straighter.

“Visiting Faerghus this time of year, that’s brave,” Claude says, keeping his voice easy. “I bet it’s already snowing.”

“I’m sure, but I.” Edelgard looks momentarily uncomfortable, not an expression Claude is used to seeing on her. “I want to visit. To make some sort of gesture in case there are...after what happened to the capital.” She glances at Felix. “They are in need of significant resources and I want to see for myself what will be most beneficial moving forward. And I. I want to.” She pauses. “Perhaps this isn’t the time or place to discuss it.”

“I’m not going to go for your throat if you mention Faerghus,” Felix says, though he’s looking across the room, toward the open doors that lead to the outdoor portico. Claude can hear the edge in his voice. “This is my home now.”

Claude puts a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes. He should probably say something like _how about we don’t mention going for a visiting dignitary’s throat_ but he stays quiet, curious despite his slight apprehension at how this conversation will go.

It’s the first Felix has spoken to Edelgard or her people since they arrived.

“I know,” Edelgard says, quietly. “I sent you here. And I might be the slayer of a dragon-god and a butcher, but I don’t consider myself unnecessarily cruel. There are things I needn’t bring up over dinner.”

“Don’t keep them to yourself on my account,” Felix says, and he’s vibrating with tension but also leaning back, just slightly, into Claude’s hold on his neck.

“All right,” says Edelgard. “I was going to speak to you about this in private, later, but I would like to commission some sort of memorial for Dimitri. I was hoping you might give me some input on what you think might be best, given that while yes, you are Almyran now, you did grow up in Fraldarius, and were close with him, at one time.”

It’s very diplomatic, Claude will give her that. But Dimitri is a sore subject, and Claude is still very carefully untangling the mess of Felix’s feelings about the man he’d once loved so desperately.

A few nights ago, he’d woken Claude and asked him for the flogger, the one with the painful little balls of metal. Claude blinked the sleep from his eyes and gave it to him, quiet and firm, until Felix finally broke.

_Sometimes I wonder. If it really happened like I told you. If I. Made it sound worse than it was. To make what I did seem all right._

Claude had been at a loss about what to say; he could reassure Felix all he wanted that everything Felix told him about his night with Dimitri went exactly as Felix said it did, but the truth was, memory _was_ a tricky thing. But Felix wasn’t the type to make excuses, or to exaggerate a situation, which was all Claude could tell him to reassure him.

“I don’t think you should ask me. They think I’m a traitor, back home. Maybe you should ask Sylvain.”

“They don’t think that,” Edelgard says, carefully. “In Fraldarius, they think you’re something of a folk hero. Defying a doomed king to save your people. You’d be surprised how the stories change. Sylvain is the subject of any number of romantic ballads, the story of how his true love dragged him off the battlefield.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, but Claude can feel him trembling, a little. He can’t stop to take care of him at the moment, because the doors open and the servants come in, beaming, carrying the flaming dessert and making a sweeping and dramatic entrance to impress their royal guests. Almyrans like theatrics.

Felix says, “Khalid, I --” and glances over at the door, the longing on his face naked and painful. “Is it all right. If I.”

It’s something that he even asked. Claude says, “Take a moment, that’s fine,” and keeps half an eye on the presentation of their dessert and half an eye on Felix, who moves silent like a ghost to the doors and steps out into the night.

“Claude,” Edelgard says, laying a hand on his arm. “Would it be all right if I spoke to him?”

Claude very nearly says _maybe now’s not a good time_ , but honestly, when _is_ a good time for that conversation? “Yeah. Of course. You’ll know pretty quick if he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“How?”

Claude watches as the servants present the dessert with a flourish, and he nods and smiles, claps politely. “Because he’ll stare obstinately into the distance and not say anything. Do me a favor, princess. If he does that. Don’t make him.”

“As I said, Claude, I do try not to be cruel. I won’t. Thank you.” With a nod, Edelgard rises, gives a slight shake to Hubert who of course gets to his feet immediately to join her, and then moves in her crimson gown toward the doors, following Felix out into the dark.

***  
“May I join you?”

Felix, who is standing at the railing of the portico and watching the wyrms twist and float in the dark, wonders what she would do if he said _no_. If he could say no, even if he wanted to; her natural dominance is on par with Claude’s, and he’s always been wary around her, even before she decided to plunge the continent into war.

She always made him nervous. Apparently his intuition knew something was going on, even before she decided to declare war.

Felix shrugs, and one of the wyrms glides up to him, tumbling gently, reminding him of the aeralists twisting in their silks. Reminding _him_ of what it felt like to fall in the ribbons and land, reborn somehow, at Claude’s feet. He holds his arm out, and is surprised when the wyrm clicks and chatters and slides sinuous as silk around him.

He smells like Claude, probably. That must be why. With his other hand, Felix touches the leather at his throat, feels the cool smooth rose-gold of the collar’s loop and tugs on it, briefly, to settle himself.

“You are allowed to say no,” Edelgard says, from behind him. “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

Felix gives a little huff of a laugh. “I’m still me, your majesty.”

“Are you?” Astute as ever, she says, “what manner of creature is that?”

“A wyrm. According to the myth, the first queen of Almyra, she was led to the capital by a dragon. When she lost her way, she tore strips from her scarves and the spirits turned them into ribbon dragons to guide her.” Felix smiles a bit at the little wyrm, who blinks big gold eyes at him. Having this creature so intimately tied to the founding myth of Almyra alight upon him, it makes him feel...settled, somehow. Even more than the collar around his neck.

As if he really is Almyran, now.

 _You are. You’re collared to the king. You love him. You have a life, here, and no one is taking that away from you. This time, you’ll fight if you have to._ Felix feels the tension ease from his shoulders. “You can. Join me, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Edelgard is a small woman, and it’s always surprising just _how_ small she is, when she’s standing right next to him. She’s glancing at the ribbon dragon out of the corner of her eye.

“You can pet it,” says Felix. “They’re not, they. Don’t bite or anything.” He turns slightly and holds his arm out, then watches with something like amusement as the Emperor of Fodlan reaches out and pats the little creature, then gives a soft little laugh of delight.

“It’s. Oh. It’s cute.” She pats it again. It chitters and winds up Felix’s arm, tries to eat his hair, then noses into it as if it’s looking for a treat.

Marianne always has something for them, and the fruit bats. Felix just feels the little wyrm bite at the bells on his ribbons, and the noise startles it so that it rises and twists away into the dark, leaving him feeling somehow blessed.

“You seem at home, here,” Edelgard says. “I’m happy for it.”

He glances over at her. “Why? I’m not trying to be rude, but. Why do you care?”

Edelgard’s face is lovely in the moonlight, but cold, like something made of marble. “I should not be surprised when people think the worst of me. And yet. I did not think I mistreated you, when you were in Enbarr, but perhaps. Perhaps sending you here in chains gave you the impression I disliked you.”

“I thought you disliked me, but not because of the war,” Felix says.

She turns slightly and looks up at him. In the dark, her eyes are wide and almost black. ‘Why would I have disliked you, Felix?”

“I’m not very likable,” Felix says. “I didn’t think it was personal.”

“I simply was frustrated that you were not...finding a place, or peace, in the capital. You did me a service, when you ceded Fraldarius to me. Why wouldn’t I wish to reward you for that?”

“I don’t --” Felix starts, then makes himself go quiet. He did that. Regardless of whatever else did or did not happen in the war, with Dimitri, he surrendered his family’s territory to stop a wholesale slaughter. And he does not regret that, he realizes, though there is that saying about hindsight for a reason, isn’t there.

“Nevertheless,” she says, and she sounds...tired, perhaps. “Lysithea suggested you might do well here, and I suppose I could have asked you, but I thought you would simply turn down any suggestion of mine purely because I made it.”

Felix smiles briefly. “Probably.” He studies her, then surprises himself by saying, “I’m grateful. That you sent me here. I was fucked up from the war, your majesty. It wasn’t you.”

“I’m aware. It made you no easier to deal with,” she says, with her usual honesty. “But you are happy, yes? You wear Claude’s collar, even though I’m told they do not collar submissives in Almyra.”

Felix nods. “I am. Yes.” He can admit that to her.

“Good. I can see he has the personality to deal with you.” Edelgard raises a brow at him. “I won’t apologize for saying that.”

Felix almost - not quite, but almost - laughs. “It’s fine. I won’t apologize for being how I am.”

She inclines her head. “Good. I wasn’t lying, before. You are not reviled in Fraldarius, should you ever wish to visit. The people there, they think it quite the story. That you stood for them, in the midst of your king’s wishes you do otherwise.”

“Claude told me, once. That history is written by the victor,” says Felix. “If you had lost, I would have been. Executed, probably.”

“Perhaps. But I did not lose.” Edelgard’s chin raises, slightly. The dominance pours from her, making Felix slightly dizzy.

He’ll kneel for Claude. For Hilda. For his family, here. But he won’t kneel for her.

She does not ask it of him, though. Instead, she says, “I have wondered, often, if I should apologize to you. To Sylvain. For killing him.”

Pain lances through him, sharp and hot, and it’s not the sweet kind that comes at the end of Claude’s flogger, or his hand. He closes his eyes, chases away the image of Dimitri, when he was young, when it was all so much easier and the future was a bright dawn on the horizon. No sign of the storm to come.

“It was war. I told him all the time there was no point in rehashing the past. That hasn’t changed, just because I. Because. It just hasn’t changed.” Felix looks down, at his hands curled around the railing.

“I cried when I -- . I loved him, once. I think you, more than anyone, understand that.”

Tears prick the back of his eyes. It’s been a long time since Felix cried for Dimitri; not the boar, or the man he’d become in service to his ghosts and Rhea’s bitterness, but _Dimitri_. “Yes. I do.”

“Do you regret it? Standing against him.”

Felix thinks about it. “Sometimes.” The word feels unholy, profane. If he had stood with Dimitri, he would have died with him. For him. He would not be here, with Claude, in Almyra. In love. _Happy_. Maybe in time the feeling will ease, like a wound that heals and leaves only a scar where before it bled. “But only sometimes.” He glances at her. “Do you?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t. But it does not change the truth of my sorrow, nor does it keep me from dreaming of him, sometimes. The boy I once knew, who gave me a dagger and tried to teach me to dance.”

Felix’s eyes burn hot with unshed tears. “He was a terrible dancer.”

“Yes,” she says. “He was.”

They’re both quiet for a long moment, staring off into the dark. Behind them, Felix hears Claude laughing, hears Lysithea and Hilda’s voices, feels the warmth of family and hearth and home. He brushes his fingers over his collar.

“Put it by the lake,” he says, gruffly, and feels his tears spill hot on his cheek. “The -- memorial, you want to build. He always liked that spot. The one near the, the apple orchard. It froze in the winter, solid enough even he could skate on it without breaking the ice. And it was always pretty there, in the summers. He liked the apples, too.”

It’s where all his happiest memories from his childhood took place. Lazy summer days in the water with Sylvain, Ingrid and Dimitri. Skating on the pond, clinging to Sylvain’s hand, or Dimitri’s. The first time Dimitri kissed him, when they were fourteen and had no idea what they were doing.

That’s the Dimitri Felix loved, the one he misses like a quiet ache and always will. The one he thinks he can remember. The one he thinks Dimitri would want to be remembered _as_.

“All right.” Edelgard’s voice is steady but whisper-soft. “The lake by the apple orchard.”

“Yes.” Felix feels the last of the weight lift away that he’s been carrying since he was fifteen and finally understood that his first love, the boy he’d so desperately hoped would one day be his king, his dominant, had died in Duscur. “I think he’d like that.”

“Good,” she says, softly. “We both found our peace, Felix. I would like it if somehow, Dimitri found his, too.” She pauses. “Thank you for that. I know it wasn’t an easy thing to share with me, and I...am grateful you spoke of it to me. I’ll send Claude to you.”

“Thank you,” Felix manages, and he’s barely aware of her turning and leaving him there in the dark. He puts his face in his hands and sobs, but his tears this time feel different. Better, somehow, to cry for a boy who was as terrible at ice skating as he was at dancing, who would shake tree branches to get Felix the best apples, who kissed him once and said Felix’s eyes looked like apricot jam and then blushed the color of the sun because who says that, what a terrible compliment, honestly.

“Hey.” Claude’s there, and before he can say a single word or tell Felix to kneel or grab his hair as he does when he thinks Felix is upset, Felix walks straight to him, puts his arms around him and presses his face into Claude’s neck.

“Oh,” Claude says, and then, “hey, sure. Hugs. Hugs are good.” His hand rubs down Felix’s back. “What do you need?”

Felix shakes his head. There’s nothing Claude can do about this, a pain he should have let himself feel years ago. All wounds hurt, before they heal. It’s the way of things.

Well. Maybe there’s one thing Claude can do.

“Take me to Faerghus,” he says, breathing in Claude’s scent, spicy and warm, familiar, loved. “In the summer. I need to say goodbye.”

Claude takes his face in his hands and smiles at him. His beard has grown in, during the last few months. He’s so handsome it nearly takes Felix’s breath. Felix loves him, and he would, he thinks, die for him. For the family he’s found here. No one will ever hurt Claude in this life, not with Felix here, ready and willing to cut down an army for him.

In time, the ache that he couldn’t do the same for Dimitri, that will pass. As it should. And he thinks, for the first time, Dimitri wouldn’t want him to live shackled to ghosts like he had. Felix can believe that much, if nothing else.

“We’ll go in the summer, then,” Claude says, and kisses him.

Felix kisses him back, then slides to his knees, for once without being told. Easy as anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left!
> 
> I started writing this fic in March literally days before quarantine. It's been one of the most rewarding things to write and I'm so happy people have enjoyed reading it. Thank you all for reading, commenting, kudosing! It's so appreciated <3


	19. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for grief, mourning, post-war trauma, and some truly awful metaphors. Thanks to Mxticketyboo for the beta, Fae for the cheerleading, and everyone on the NVR discord for being so wonderful <3 
> 
> also faerghan apples grow in the summer ok i don't make the rules. or no wait i do and i say so. :D

“This is summer? Why. How.” Claude pulls his cloak around him and stares at Felix, as if Felix has somehow betrayed him. “So many things make sense about you, now.”

Felix, who has his face turned up to the sky and looks like one of the monastery cats sunning itself on a wall, says without opening his eyes, “Suck it up, Khalid, you’re being dramatic.”

Fine, maybe that’s true, but really, come _on_. This isn’t summer, it’s barely spring. Spring in Almyra is hotter than this so-called summer could ever hope to be.

“When I was a boy, we’d go swimming, days like this,” Felix says. “In the lake by the apple orchard.”

Where they are going for the memorial, which is why they’re in Fhirdiad in the first place. Claude puts a comforting hand on the back of Felix’s neck, rubs his thumb over the leather of his collar. This trip is quick, only a few days at most, but weighty enough to feel like months.

“I’m fine,” Felix says, after a moment. His voice is quiet, but it usually is. “Maybe it’s easier because this all looks so different. Sylvain told me but I didn’t...think he meant _this_ different.”

Claude had only Felix’s assurances on that, as he’d never been to the old Kingdom capital city. But the houses were freshly painted, the streets swept and the cobblestones re-laid, and the castle where Rhea made her gruesome last stand has new windows, the stone cleaned of the soot and ash from her fury, trees and greenery planted in neat wooden boxes.

There’s a memorial garden for the fallen soldiers of Faerghus, and they stop by it for a time before entering the castle proper. Felix’s fingers skirt over the names, and he takes a shuddering breath at Ingrid’s, but says nothing. Claude, who has seen his father, his uncle, at the memorial fountains in Almyra, remains respectfully silent with his head bowed.

“I think she. Would have liked all the plants,” Felix says, after a moment. “She always said they needed more gardens here, and. Claude. I don’t. Know if I can do this.”

Claude’s heart aches at that. It’s not easy for Felix, who still struggles with his guilt, sometimes. “Then we won’t. We can head out whenever you want, Felix.” He puts his hand on the back of Felix’s neck. “You don’t have to attend the ceremony, the memorial will be there when you’re ready.” It’s not much of a ceremony, just a quiet dedication.

“No. I - he deserves this from me.” Felix looks at him. His voice is trembling with emotion, but his eyes are clear. “I didn’t fight here with him, and I think I should have.”

Personally, Claude disagrees -- all it would have done, probably, was end up with Felix’s name on the memorial instead of him standing in front of it. But he doesn’t say that. “I think he would have respected that you stayed true to yourself and what you thought was right, even if he was angry about it. A lot of his former subjects got through the war alive because of you.”

Felix is enough of a soldier not to say _maybe we would have won if I’d fought with him_ , because one person’s sword doesn’t win a war, but he’s probably still thinking it. They all carry wounds from the war, don’t they? Felix’s are only now starting to heal.

The memorial garden is lovely, and there’s a small display of Duscuran flowers in a little greenhouse, which makes Felix ask the attendant on duty who’s in charge of them, thinking maybe it might be his friend Ashe, who he hasn’t had much luck finding. The attendant says only the instructions are copied from a book left with the groundskeeper, whose offices are on the first floor if he wants to visit.

Before they leave, Felix puts a silver coin on the edge of the display of Duscruan flowers, and another on the stone in the memorial garden proper. He seems subdued but follows Claude into the castle itself, where they are to meet with Sylvain and his wife, Mercedes.

Like the Imperial Palace in Enbarr, Fhirdiad’s castle has been completely renovated for use by the public officials in charge of the city and surrounding areas. Reception rooms have been made into offices with high windows and plenty of plants, there are new rugs on the polished floors and the walls have been freshly painted.

And there’s the banner of United Fodlan hanging high over what was once the throne room.

Felix stares at the banner for a while. “I saw this banner when they hung it at the palace in Enbarr. But somehow it feels different, seeing it here.” He sounds angry.

“I’d be surprised if it didn’t,” Claude says. He likes the banner -- Edelgard’s artisans did a nice job with it, incorporating the red of the Adrestian eagle with the Alliance’s yellow and the Kingdom’s blue, none greater than the other -- but he’s also not the one whose country lost the war. He’d feel a whole lot different if this were hung up in front of _his_ throne, that’s for sure.

Felix tilts his head up, one hand on his hip in what Claude thinks of as his _haughty noble_ pose and says, in Almyran, “I like your throne room better. More light.”

Claude laughs, the sound echoing off the empty hallway. “Good to know, Fox-Cub,” he says, also in Almyran. “I’m pretty fond of it, and you in it, tied to my throne by the lead on your collar.”

Felix turns away from the banner. There’s something about the set of his shoulders, the bright spark in his amber eyes, that tells Claude he’s going to put up a fight to be settled, later. Which, as always, is just fine with Claude.

“Felix!”

Felix’s severe expression eases, just a bit. “Sylvain. I was wonder--mmph.”

Claude watches in amusement as Sylvain Gautier, tall and red-haired and sporting a -- frankly impressive -- beard, sweeps Felix up into a bear hug.

“Remember that time you almost hugged me, once,” Sylvain says, lifting Claude’s submissive off his feet.

“This is why I didn’t,” Felix says, punching him in the arm. “Put me _down_ , you fool.”

“Nope. Not gonna.” Sylvain hugs him, tighter. Felix makes a wheezing sound in response. “What do you think of that banner, huh? I kinda want sneak in, tear it down and put up the old Blue Lions house banner instead. Think I’ll get arrested?”

“Syl _vain_ ,” Felix hisses.

Claude says, “I’ll give you asylum, in Almyra, if you do. But you have to hang up a Golden Deer one instead.”

Sylvain returns Felix to his feet, then turns and flashes his old grin at Claude -- or something like it, anyway. Claude could always tell that Sylvain’s smiles were just as forced as his own, back in school. It’s probably why they made a mutual, unspoken pact to avoid each other.

“Von Riegan. As I live and breathe.” He puts a hand over his heart and bows.

“It’s _Your Majesty_ ,” Felix says, glaring at his old friend. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Haven’t you heard? Kings are out in Fodlan, Felix.” Sylvain’s laugh goes a little wild. He clearly has his own issues with the war that aren’t quite settled, yet. He’d fought at Fhirdiad, and would have died there if not for the woman moving sedately down the hall toward them.

“Sylvain, be nice,” she says, and Claude notices she is very visibly pregnant before he has an armful of Mercedes hugging him. “Your Majesty. I’m so happy to see you.”

“You, too, Mercedes. And let’s just go with Claude, for old time’s sake, yeah?” He smiles at her. “Congratulations are in order, I see.”

She nods, smiling contentedly. “Yes. And Felix. I’m so sorry that we’re together again under such sad circumstances, but it’s wonderful to see you. Will you permit a hug?”

“At least you asked,” Felix says, and holds his arms out for her to hug him. “I can’t believe you are willingly having Sylvain’s baby.”

“Felix,” Claude says.

“What? It’s true.” Felix doesn’t smile easily or often, but he’s close as he looks at Sylvain. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” Sylvian says, reaching out and tugging at the loop on Felix’s collar.

“Hand off my submissive’s collar or I’ll spank you,” Claude says.

“I’ll let him, too,” says Mercedes, smiling gently.

“Don’t tease, baby.” Sylvain’s smile goes warmer, more genuine, as he puts his hands on Felix’s shoulders. “I don’t know about you, Felix, but I’m a fucking mess.”

Felix gives a choked sound and then hugs Sylvain again. “Yeah. Me, too.”

Sylvain’s eyes go bright as he drops his face into Felix’s hair, his shoulders shaking.

Mercedes touches Claude’s arm, lightly. “Would it be all right if they had a moment? I think they could use it. We can go for a walk, if you like.”

Sylvain is crying and Felix is...hugging him without trying to get out of it, so Claude says, “I’m going for a walk with Mercedes,” and Felix does something like nod, so Claude offers Mercedes his arm and they head down the hallway.

“It’s strange. I don’t have nearly the same feelings about any of this - oh, I’m sad about Dimitri, of course, but all I see when I look at that banner is relief that the war’s over and we might have peace, now.”

“I’m sort of the same,” Claude says. “All I’ve ever wanted was to open Fodlan’s borders with Almyra, not fight a war over who gets to rule it. But we also didn’t grow up Faerghan nobles like they did, so. There’s probably some of that.”

“I’m glad you brought Felix. I know this is harder for him, in some ways. Sylvain has some guilt about surviving where others did not, but I also am responsible for that and I have never once regretted it.”

“I think Felix is having a hard time, yeah. Of course. But seeing Sylvain not hate him probably helps.”

“Sylvain has a kind heart, beneath all the damage his family did.” She smiles, serenely. “Luckily, they’re no longer a problem. And he’ll have one that will let him be the kind man I know him to be, and children that will adore him, not fear him as he seems to think is natural, for fathers and sons.” She pats the swell of her belly. “How’s your lady wife, did she come with you?”

“She didn’t, but you should feel free to come visit, she’d love to see you. She’s fine, feisty as ever.” He smiles. “She looks good in a crown.”

“I imagine,” Mercedes says, and chuckles. “And Marianne?”

“Lovely and sweet, charming Almyrans left and right,” Claude says. He misses them both. “They call her the _Bird-singer_ , at home.”

They stop in what appears to be a hallway of portraits, featuring the kings and queens of Faerghus. There’s one of Dimitri that must have been painted recently, and Claude finds himself drawn to the sight of it, wondering for a moment at what might have been, what could have been, if things had been different.

“He had a kind heart, too, beneath it all,” Mercedes says, sighing. “I think that’s why what happened in Duscur broke it so very badly.”

“Yeah,” Claude says, though he only knows the basics of that. “I hope he’s at peace, now.”

“Me, too. The war took so much, caused so many wounds. And if I learned one thing as a healer on the battlefield, it’s that wounds always take so much longer to heal than you think they will.”

“You’re a wise woman,” Claude says, turning to her. “And you’ve always been a gifted healer, so I’ll trust you know what you’re talking about.”

She nods, and they turn in tandem to walk back toward Sylvain and Felix.

Behind them, the portraits of rulers past are quiet and still, left to history.

***  
“And then,” Sylvain says, waving his tankard of Faerghan ale, “Felix tried to throw Ingrid in the pond --”

“She deserved it,” Felix says, smiling a bit. “Tattletale, who made her tell Glenn I was sneaking out of my etiquette lessons to see you and Dimitri? No one did. She chose that. I chose to throw her in the pond.”

“You chose to _try_ ,” Sylvain says, gleeful. “But you went in, instead, remember?”

“Can we go back to the etiquette lessons,” Claude asks, amused. “Because the fact you skipped them, that explains a lot.”

“They were submissive etiquette lessons,” Felix says.

“Somehow, that’s funnier,” Claude says, charmed. He knows part of this -- sharing drinks, old memories, are just dressings for the wounds that are still a little raw and bloody, but it’s useful, probably, for them to start to heal.

“I have perfectly good posture,” Felix says, so snidely that Claude hauls him in by the collar and bites him on the mouth. They’re in a private dining room in the inn where Sylvain and Mercedes are staying, and trying as best they can to have dinner that is mostly Sylvain drinking and getting progressively louder.

“This is so weird,” Sylvain says, when Claude lets Felix go. “You two, I mean. I never would have even thought you’d end up a thing, but then again, who knew Claude was the king of Almyra?”

“I mean,” Claude says. “I did. I knew. But I wasn’t the king when I was there. Just the crown prince.”

“Just, he says. You were always cute, though you’re way better looking now. I like the beard,” Sylvain says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Claude raises his own tankard, mostly untouched because he hates Fodlan-style ale -- it’s bitter, surprise, surprise -- and says, “Same.”

Sylvain squints at him. “You like mine, or yours?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mercedes says, sighing. “Perhaps it’s time for bed. We do have, a. A day, tomorrow.”

Sylvain groans. “Mercie, sweetie, I’m trying to forget tomorrow by drinking _today_.”

“That’s never once worked for you,” Mercedes says, kindly. “And it won’t, now. Tomorrow is going to hurt, and there is no amount of ale in the world that will change that.”

“She’s so. So mean. It’s great.” Sylvain lays his head on her shoulder. “You’re not really mean. I don’t know why I say that, I love you, what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re drunk,” says Felix, helpfully.

“So’re you. Really. I can tell.” Sylvain points at him. “I can’t believe the war was over and you ran off to Enbarr instead of. To. To me, your oldest friend.”

“We’re doing this, now?” Felix asks, going tense next to him. “I didn’t know where you _were_.”

“Felix, tomorrow we have to watch the woman who killed Dimitri stand up and say a speech at the memorial she had made for him, overlooking the lake we used to swim in when we were kids and pretend you two weren’t mooning over each other. What better fucking time is there, huh, to rip ourselves apart?”

There’s silence, and Mercedes says, “Sylvain, that’s enough. And Edelgard isn’t speaking, you know that. I am.”

“I knew you were angry at me,” Felix says, wearily, to Sylvain. He pushes his tankard across the table. “For not. Not fighting.”

“I’m not angry you didn’t fight at Fhirdiad, are you kidding? I’m mad you apparently had the balls to tell him where to shove it and --”

“No.” Felix stands up. His hands are shaking. “That’s not. It’s not what happened.”

“Sure,” Sylvain says, that same slick smile on his face, eyes cold as copper. “Not like I knew any different, since neither of you bothered to tell me what happened!”

“That’s -- he tried to -- I tried to, to kneel for him, and he just -- it -- didn’t. You don’t know what --” Felix shakes his head, breathing too fast, and that’s enough to get Claude to step in.

He understands Felix and Sylvain need to talk about what happened, but Felix doesn’t need to eviscerate his feelings all over the table to do it.

“That’s enough,” Claude says, putting enough of his natural dominance voice in his voice to make Sylvain lower his eyes and Felix sit back down. “Felix does not need to drag out his past for you to understand why he chose what he did.”

“I wasn’t mad at you for not fighting at Fhirdiad, I knew how you felt about the war and. Dimitri,” Sylvain says, to the table, his voice shaking. “I was mad that you pretended I didn’t exist after the war ended.”

“I felt _guilty_ for being a _traitor_ , you idiot!” Felix slams his fist on the table. “You survived but you didn’t -- you didn’t betray him.”

“You didn’t, either,” Sylvain says. “You stayed loyal to the man you always thought him to be -- one who wouldn’t have let his city burn, if he wasn’t in thrall to his own ghosts, all that pain he carried around after the tragedy. I fought because I was too much of a coward to call him out.”

“Neither of you betrayed anyone,” Mercedes says, sipping her water. “You both made your choices and neither of them were wrong, and no one at this table is a coward. I understand you have knots to untangle, but Sylvain, you know I won’t allow you to cut yourself to pieces to do it.”

“She’s right,” Claude says, fingers hooked in Felix’s collar, impressed at Mercedes’ calm sense of command -- he figures Marianne would be like this, if she were born a dominant. “And I think Dimitri would be glad you’re both alive to have this conversation in the first place.”

“The Dimitri we knew as a boy would, yeah,” Sylvain says. “That’s not the one we had after Duscur.”

“Too bad it took a war for you to see I was right,” Felix says.

“Yeah. How’s that victory feel, now, buddy?” Sylvain asks, eyes narrowed.

“How do you think it feels?”

There’s a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence and then Sylvain says, “Like shit, probably,” and Felix gives a rough, unhappy laugh and picks up his tankard.

“To feeling like shit,” Sylvain says, picking up his -- which Mercedes has neatly switched for her water, not that he notices -- and clinking it against Felix’s. “I thought this would be easier.”

“It will be,” Mercedes says, drawing her fingers through his hair. “Healing always is, when the bleeding stops.”

Sylvain oozes off the bench and onto his knees, pressing his face into Mercedes’ belly. “I’m sorry, little one, I hope you end up like your mom. This is why we’re not going to live here. I won’t do that to you.”

“It’s nice in Almyra,” Felix says. “Too hot for you, maybe. But. The food’s good. The king’s not bad.”

Sylvain laughs. “I already hate tomorrow.”

“Me, too,” says Felix. “But I don’t hate you, Sylvain. I never did. And I put the silver coins for Ingrid at the memorial, in the garden. I’m glad I didn’t have to put them there for you, too.” His voice cracks. “I don’t think I could have. Come back, if your name was on there.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Sylvain doesn’t do much but kneel there, still grabbing at Mercedes’ hands. “Sorry we’re so fucked up, Mercie, Claude. Blame Faerghus.”

He does, kind of, but Claude says, “I think we’re all done with blaming people. Let’s try and get some sleep.”

There are rooms for visiting dignitaries on the top floor of the castle, but Claude declined immediately when offered their use, thinking that Felix would rather pry his own fingers off than try and sleep there. They ostensibly have rooms at the inn, but Claude shakes his head when Felix goes toward the stairs and says, “I decided we could probably use some fresh air.”

“You did not, you hate this weather.” Felix follows him out into the chilly night air, which is still way too cold for summer. “Where are we going?”

“If you don’t like it, we can come back to the inn.” Claude finds Altaira in the small ayrie by the inn, where she’s practically buried herself in the hay. She chirps angrily and stomps, then tries to bite him, likely just annoyed by the weather as he is.

Felix is quiet on the short flight, though he goes tense when he sees where they’re going. It’s near the lake by the apple orchard, a bit away from where they’ll have the ceremony and from Dimitri’s monument, just barely visible in the distance.

“I brought a tent, so we could camp,” says Claude. And about a million blankets. With fur.

“I thought it would be too cold for you to want to camp,” is all Felix says, when Claude has Altaira settled and is unpacking their camping gear. His gaze is off in the distance, where he can just see the monument for Dimitri, a dark shape in the moonlight. “And don’t you need guards?”

“I have you to keep me warm,” Claude says. “And brought a lot of blankets. Also, yeah, there’re guards around if you know where to look for them. And hey, look, if you want, we can go back to the inn.”

“No, I -- no.” Felix exhales. “That wasn’t, I’m sorry, it -- I don’t know what to say, I’m still. Tonight was a lot, with Sylvain.”

“Honestly, it went better than I thought it might,” Claude says, going to stand behind him. “You two have the time to fix things, you know. It doesn’t have to happen right away.”

“Yeah. I know.” He leans back against Claude. “I left after the war and went to Enbarr because I just wanted it to stop hurting so much. Losing them all. Because even though I knew he was alive, I still thought I’d lost him.”

Claude’s eyes burn hot for a minute at the raw feeling there in Felix’s voice, usually kept so tightly under wraps. “Yeah. I sorta figured all that out, but I’ve always been pretty smart, you know.”

Felix gives a choked laugh. “You’re good at people. I guess. It’s annoying, sometimes.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Claude kisses the back of his neck, then bites just to feel Felix shiver. “I love you. And I think you’re doing as well as anyone could. I know this must be hard.”

“Yeah. That fucking banner.” He shakes his head, then turns -- and he takes Claude’s breath, almost, he’s so beautiful here in the soft moonlight of his homeland, his inky dark hair and fair skin pale as snow, those cut-amber eyes and his cheekbones sharp as knives. “I don’t want to come back here, ever again.”

“You don’t have to,” Claude promises. “You’re the collared submissive of the king of Almyra, and you never have to leave it again, if you don’t want to.”

“I know.” Felix reaches up and draws his fingers over Claude’s jaw, through his hair. “But I had to come back, like this, so I could...leave it. The right way, this time. Not running from something, but. Toward it.”

“The first queen of Almyra, she came from the cold night sky and followed a dragon to the land of heat and flame,” Claude says. “That’s why our capital is in the middle of a desert. There’s a statue in a fountain about it --”

“Someone breathes in Almyra, and you make a statue in a fountain about it,” says Felix.

Claude snorts. “You’re not wrong. Anyway, I thought you’d like the story, since all yours, here, are depressing. If Faerghans made water statues about your myths, even the water would be sad. It’d dry up in protest.”

Felix says, “You’re ridiculous. I love you, too. It means a lot you’re doing this for me when I know it’s...a lot. I told you, didn’t I, I’d never make it easy for you? I meant literally anything.”

“You did tell me, yeah,” Claude says, tugging on the ring of Felix’s collar. “And I always figured you meant it literally, don’t worry. You don’t make it easy, Felix, but you _do_ make it worth it. Come on, let’s get out of this frigid night air --”

“It’s summer,” Felix mutters.

“And I’ll settle you, just like I will tomorrow when it’s over, just like I always will, when you need it.” Claude kisses him, there beneath the stars, and Felix kisses him back.

“And then I guess I’ll follow you to your land of fire, my dragon,” Felix says, which might be the sappiest thing Felix has ever said to him. “Even if it’s way too hot for me.”

Claude smiles in the dark. “Hey, you said it yourself. The food’s not bad, and neither is the king.”

“Mmm,” says Felix, and Claude pulls him into the tent.

***  
When Felix wakes up, his ass and upper thighs are bruised from the caning Claude gave him before fucking him hard enough to put Felix under enough to get some sleep. His eyes are a little swollen from the tears Claude finally got him to shed, and he can’t say he feels good about this, but he feels...better, maybe. A little. Enough to get through this, and make his peace with it.

Felix dresses for the ceremony as a soldier of Faerghus, in Kingdom blue, for the last time. His boots are polished, his sword shining, and he slips his old Fraldarius signet ring -- the one that came to him after his father’s death -- on his hand. It’s the first time he’s ever worn it, and it makes him reach up to touch the familiar weight of his collar to calm down.

Claude is still asleep, wrapped up in all the blankets on the cot, so only a few tufts of his dark hair is sticking out. Felix rolls his eyes at him, then ducks out of the tent. It’s almost dawn, and the ceremony -- as simple as it is -- won’t be for a few hours. He has time to say his goodbyes in private, which is what he wanted.

The last thing he has to do is grab an apple from one of the trees, which involves climbing it and it’s been some time since Felix has done that, and he’s never done it dressed like this with a sword at his side. He’s glad he decided to do this alone, if he fell into the water getting an apple, Claude would laugh himself sick, probably.

He snags one from near the top, because Dimitri always told him those were the best ones, and jumps to his feet. As a kid he’d sprained his ankle once, so eager to show Dimitri the apples because _you’re right, Dimitri! They are the best ones, from way up high!_

It takes him another few seconds of gathering himself before he can make himself approach the stone, his heart racing, something hot burning its way up his throat.

The dedication is simple, and reads; _Dedicated to Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. If your restless spirit wanders, may it find its way here to rest, in this place where you knew joy, friendship, and the love of those who will always miss you._

Felix says, softly, “I brought you an apple. The best one. From the top branch.” And he places it on the stone. “Here, you were never the king. You were just Dimitri. And I. Loved you. I’m sorry that it ended like it did. I hope you’re at peace, now.”

With that, he puts the last of the silver coins he brought, there on the stone. To pay the ferryman, said to ferry the souls of the dead to their rest. And his signet ring, because there is no more Fraldarius duchy in this new Fodlan, and even if there was, no duke left to rule it.

His hands are shaking, but Felix manages to get the sword out of his sheath and goes to his knees, placing it on top of the stone. Gives the memory of Dimitri -- the prince who Felix loved, once -- his sword, like Felix never could do for Dimitri, the king, in life.

It almost breaks his heart. But his heart is stronger now, the cracks left by years of grief and loss and war starting to mend. And when he feels a hand on his shoulder, he glances up through his tears and sees the reason why standing there, hastily dressed and smiling down at him.

“I thought you might be here. Are you okay?”

Felix says, “No. But I will be. Will you. Did you bring a knife?”

“ _Did you bring a knife_ , he says.” Claude snorts. “I brought about four, it’s me. Wait, why? I’m not sure I want to know, given how depressing your stories are.”

“For the _apple_ , Claude.” Felix gets to his feet, takes it from the top of the stone, and sits cross-legged in front of it again. It’s a perfect Faerghan apple, bright red. The top ones always get the best sun, maybe that’s why they’re the best. Naturalism isn’t Felix’s strong suit.

Claude gives him a suspicious look. “You want me to eat an offering to the dead? No, thanks. I’ve heard your myths. I do that, and we wake up on a boat heading to some cave we can’t get out of, and I turn into one of those puppet soldiers.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “No, that’s not what...he would hate it if we wasted it. The apple, I mean. Ingrid would hate that, too. Especially Ingrid. Sit.”

Claude sits, procures one of his multiple knives, and hands it to Felix. “This is not what I expected to see you doing.” He eyes the sword, but he doesn’t ask.

“Just eat the apple, Claude.” Felix hands him a piece, pops his own in his mouth.

Claude’s eyes go wide immediately as he starts chewing. “Wow. Are Faerghan apples always this good? Why aren’t these everywhere? Besides you, this is my favorite thing that’s ever come out of this country.”

“Because they go bad too quickly,” Felix says, cutting another few slices. “They’re used for baking, mostly, they’re good for that. But for about a week or two in the summer, right off the tree...they’re the best thing in the world. That’s when we’d come here, and eat them until we were sick. I haven’t had one in years.”

“You’re telling me the apples are only this good for two weeks a year, and the rest of the time, they’re only good for being cut up and thrown into a pie and baked? Really?”

“We can’t all have star maidens and dragons with a keen sense of geography, Khalid. We have. Fruit metaphors.” Felix shrugs. “And coins for the dead. That’s Faerghus, for you.”

“I see. That explains why you don’t make fountains out of your myths. Hard to work that one up properly in stone.”

“And they’d freeze in the winter.” Felix takes another slice of apple, bites into it, closes his eyes. He can almost imagine, if it were later in the day, being young again. Before Duscur, before the rebellion, before the war. When they were just four kids eating apples in the sun, the glorious two weeks when Faerghus was the best place in the world and the apples were all around, all theirs for the taking.

Felix opens his eyes. It’s only just dawn, and he is many, many years past being a child. But the apples. They’re still the same. He slices another, and he can’t bear to place it on the stone, to see it turn brown, uneaten. He’ll just have to eat one for Dimitri. Maybe, if he’s somewhere out there, his spirit will know. Will taste it again, just once.

Claude says, after a moment, “They’re only good for two weeks, huh.”

Felix nods. “Yeah.”

“If you want,” Claude says. “We can come back in the summer. Get some apples. Say hi to Dimitri.”

Felix stares at his king, his dominant, the man he loves even though he’s sometimes impossible and always infuriating, leaning back on his hands in the early morning light of a perfect Faerghan day. Doing what he always does, thinking of a future where everything’s fine and everyone’s happy. He’s wearing his riding leathers and he’s not wearing the regalia of a king, but he doesn’t really need to. It’s there in his easy, natural dominance, the little smile on his full mouth,

He’s gorgeous. He makes Felix’s mouth water like the apple, and when this is over, Felix will leave Fodlan with him. His dragon. Who, despite being subjected to Felix’s rapid, confusing emotions about -- everything -- just offered to do this again. So Felix could have an _apple_.

“Maybe,” he says, and last, finishing the apple. “Or maybe it’s enough to remember that it was like this, sometimes.”

“I could try and grow you an apple tree,” says Claude, because of course he would say that, and try, if Felix asked it of him.

“It wouldn’t taste the same,” Felix says, but he smiles at Claude. “And it’s all right. I like wyvernfruit. The apples can stay here, where they belong.”

Even if he never comes back again to eat them, at least the promise of the apples is still here. For Dimitri and his restless spirit, when it finally makes its way back home.

For the first time, Felix feels like he can leave this place, and all its memories, behind.

“You’re really more like a wyvernfruit than this apple,” his infuriating dominant says, cheerfully. “Prickly on the outside, perfectly tart and sweet on the inside.”

Felix throws the apple core at him. Claude was never there, when Felix was a child, and yet. Somehow his laugh sounds like it belongs there, in his memories, all the same.

***  
The ceremony is simple enough, with a dedication spoken by Mercedes, who says they’ve planted a peace lily around the base of the memorial, that will flower in the spring when the rains come to Tailtean Plains. Felix stands next to Sylvain, who is somber but clear-eyed, and who greeted him with a rough hug and a, “Sorry about last night, I’m an ass.”

“You are,” Felix said, but hugged him back. Of course.

Dorothea sings two songs; the first is about a soldier who fell in battle, saying his goodbyes as a ghost to the comrades-in-arms who lie sleeping in their tents, having survived. That one is an odd choice but undeniably lovely in her voice, aching and wistful, more about the things you don’t say when you should than anything having to do with the war. It still rankles Felix a bit, but he lets it, accepts the complicated tangle of his emotions the best he can and remembers sharing that apple with Claude, there in the early dawn.

The second song is one of Dimitri’s favorites from when they were children, about a sneaky, mischievous fox that promises to help a lost little wolf pup find its way back to its pack in the snow. The fox leads him on a merry romp to keep the wolf from his den, where his mate and new cubs are nestled, but they become friends and exchange gifts on the Longest Night - red berries and pine branches, though Felix never did understand why a wolf would want either of those things. Or a fox, for that matter.

But that’s the song that gets him and Sylvain both like a shot to the heart, because Dimitri always sang one of the phrases incorrectly and it took Felix until he was nine to realize Dimitri was doing it on purpose, just to get Ingrid to yell _those aren’t the right words!_ at him. And Dorothea, somehow she knows to sing the wrong lyrics just like Dimitri did.

And Felix can almost hear Ingrid’s ire at him doing it again, the way Dimitri would turn and hide his grin.

Sylvain is crying by the end of the song, and Felix is grabbing Claude’s hand so hard he’s surprised he’s not broken a few knuckles, but it’s also a nice memory that belongs here, in the place chosen because that’s all there is. Nice memories of a simpler life, when the world wasn’t a place where you could be dragged from a carriage and watch your father beheaded in front of you, or watch the boy you only just realized you loved wild-eyed and laughing while skewering poor terrified soldiers with his lance.

Here, Dimitri was just Dimitri, and Felix could remember how he’d lift Felix into the branches to get the apples, how he looked smiling in the water, laughing, surrounded by nothing but sunlight, the love and warmth of his friends.

Edelgard attends the ceremony, though she’s dressed simply and doesn’t speak; she simply places something at the base of the stone, a simple dagger with a hilt tied with a white ribbon. She says something Felix can’t hear, pats the stone once, and leaves with Hubert, somber in black, and Dorothea, who gives him and Sylvain a small smile and a nod as she leaves.

And then it’s only Felix and Sylvain left there, with Mercedes and Claude talking quietly, letting them have a moment.

“Ingrid has a memorial, in Galatea,” says Sylvain, after a moment. “And a silo, a granary - Edelgard asked me what a practical thing was, that Ingrid would like. I said, anything that has to do with food.”

Felix smiles a little at that. “She’d like that. I mean. After she was mad about dying.”

“She’d be mad, wouldn’t she.”

“Furious. She hated losing when we played tag.” Felix closes his eyes, presses a hand to his forehead. “I miss them both.”

“Yeah. Me too. It wasn’t supposed to...be like this. Sometimes I wish I -”

“No,” says Felix. “Finish that thought and they’ll be building _your_ monument. I’ll make it something you hate, too. Try me, Gautier. I dare you.”

“Felix!” Sylvain says, after a minute, “Okay, now I’m curious. Like what?”

“I don’t know. The training pitch you never went to, at school. The library. The Crest of Gautier.”

“Low blow, Fraldarius.” Sylvain drags his fingers through his hair. “I thought this would help. What the fuck was I thinking?”

“I think it will. You need an apple.”

“What?” Sylvain blinks. “Oh, right. Yeah. Go get one. You always did, didn’t you? You and Ingrid. Me and Dimitri were too big to climb the trees.”

“No, Dimitri would break the branches and you were just lazy.” Felix stares at him, his friend, who taught him to tie his boot laces and once sat by his bed for two weeks when Felix was sick with a summer fever, telling him a story about a thief who ran away with a princess and joined a theater troupe, so they could fight his evil, shapeshifting half-brother on a flying ship. It was unclear which of them had the fever after that story, honestly.

Sylvain is older, clearly fucked up at surviving the war, and might still be a little mad at Felix no matter what he says. But he’s _here_.

“What?” Sylvain squints at him. “What.”

“I miss you, too,” Felix says, softly. He braces himself for something, a quip or a joke, the way Sylvain always hides his feelings behind one or the other of those.

But Sylvain reaches out and takes Felix’s hand, holds it tight and says, “I miss you, too, Felix.”

Together, they stand there and look at the monument for their friend; not their grieving prince or their angry king, but the boy they both loved, in their own way. Who they both lost.

“Remember that promise we made? When we were kids.” Sylvain’s voice is thick with emotion. “How we’d die together?”

“Yeah,” Felix says, swallowing hard. “I remember.”

“Okay. Well. I’m amending it, we can still die on the same day but...we should probably both. Live, first. And stay in each other’s lives, too.”

“This is a lot of promises,” says Felix. “The other one was. Easier.”

“Sure, and you do like a challenge, isn’t that what you always say? You’re collared to _Claude von Riegan_ , Felix. You can handle little ol’ me.”

“There’s a reason your wife is named Mercie,” says Felix, and Sylvain laughs.

“Felix, promise or I _will_ drag you into the water and dunk you until you agree with me. In front of my dominant, in front of yours, I don’t care that he’s a king.”

“Fine, I promise,” Felix says. He feels exhausted, like he’s been here for a week instead of a few hours. Luckily, this is enough for Sylvain, who finds his wife and wanders off with her toward the apple trees. Felix watches them go, wondering if Sylvain will bring his kids here, one day, tell them about how he used to pick apples with his friends and eat them under the bright summer sun.

Claude is eating another apple by the tent when Felix gets back. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to stay, or leave tonight. These really are good, though, I can’t believe there’s one amazing Faerghan thing and it’s _apples_. And you. You and apples, Felix.”

Felix says, “We can go in the morning, but I -- I need you to. Show you meant that, when you said I was worth it.” He’s having a hard time breathing. “I don’t know why I can’t. Pick one thing and just. Feel that. But I know that you always make me believe it, when you say I’m worth all the trouble. I want to feel that I am. Worth it.”

“You’re more than worth it,” Claude says, smiling like the fox in the song, the one that tricked the wolf and then ended up making friends with it. “You’re mine and I’ll show you whenever you want just how perfect you are. Now get on your knees, and let me handle you.”

With a gasp of relief, Felix sinks to his knees in the cold, cool grass, and lets him.

***  
That night, for the first time in a long while, Felix dreams about Dimitri.

He’s standing where the monument stone is, his hair long like it was the last time Felix saw him, dressed in his long cloak emblazoned with the Crest of Blaiddyd on the back, the crown of Faerghus on his head.

“Hello, Felix.”

Felix hasn’t dreamed of Dimitri in months, but he’s dreamed of him before. They are never pleasant dreams. “Dimitri.”

“It’s lovely here. A good place.” He turns and smiles; there’s no hint of fury on his face, which is relaxed, peaceful. Something about his eyes, though. They’re starting to glow, bright like they’re lit from within. “I can’t stay long, I’m sorry.”

Felix says, in his dream, “Is that bad, that you can’t stay? Do you want to?”

“No, no. I’m ready to go.” He opens his hand, and there are Felix’s two coins. The light is starting to grow brighter, spilling from his eyes. “Felix. I was wrong about ghosts. They aren’t people. They’re just the things we carry in our hearts, when people leave us. I carried the wrong things in mine. I don’t want you to carry the wrong things in yours, about me. I don’t want to be your ghost, Felix. I would spare you that.”

“Dima,” Felix says, wanting to -- something. Go to him, maybe. But he can’t, and the light is growing so bright he can barely see, spilling from Dimitri’s mouth, his eyes. “I don’t want that either.”

“Yes. Good. I’m glad. I wasn’t sure, but now I think I am. Carry this place with you, and I won’t haunt you. It’s so. So lovely, here. I’d forgotten, Felix. How much I liked it. How good the apples taste. Thank you for bringing me here. For bringing me home."

And with that, the light takes him. All that’s left is the distant shape of four figures splashing in the lake, the sound of laughter, fading as the light spills out and takes that, too.

Felix wakes up, sunlight pouring in the tent, spilling over his face, which is wet with tears.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Claude says. “We have to pack up and head out, if you’re ready.”

 _I’m ready to go_ , said Dimitri, in his dream.

“I’m ready,” says Felix, and gets out of bed. He stands around, looking at the tent. He feels...calm, at the thought of leaving. Not like last time. And something about that dream makes him think Dimitri forgave him, too.

And maybe it’s wishful thinking, just his subconscious, but the fact he even feels like he _deserves_ forgiveness...it feels like maybe it means something. Like the ghost of Dimitri he carries in his heart will be the right one. The one from the meadow and the orchard and the lake, not the castle and the war and the anger.

“Do you want to visit the monument, one last time before we leave?” Claude asks, once everything is packed and secured on Altaira, who is munching on an apple. “Here, I got you one. These really are delicious.” He tosses the apple to Felix, who catches it and stares down at it.

_I’d forgotten, Felix. How good the apples taste._

“No,” Felix says. “I’m good.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Felix takes a bite of the apple. He’d forgotten how good they tasted, too.

“Because we’re not in a hurry, you know.”

Felix walks over, grabs Claude by riding vest and hauls him in to kiss him. “I know. But it’s time. And I want to leave. I want to go with you, my dragon. Out of the stars, or whatever. My wyvern, lead me out of the apple orchard to the --”

“Stop talking,” Claude says, but he’s grinning. “You need to be Almyran a little longer before your metaphors are at the appropriate level for that kind of comment.”

Felix snorts, tosses the apple away, where maybe it will grow a new tree for someone else to climb, those two perfect weeks when everything in Faerghus is just as it should be. That's what he'll think of, when he thinks of Faerghus. Those two weeks, his three friends in the water, laughing. The sunlight. The taste of apples. That will all stay here, quiet, and safe.

For now, he swings up onto the saddle and leans back against Claude as Altaira spreads her wings and takes off. Fhirdiad, Faerghus and Fodlan fall away beneath them as they head east, toward Almyra.

Toward _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this story two days before the lockdown for Covid, eight months ago. I appreciate all the kind words, messages, artwork (!), kudos, comments and hits so so much -- honestly it makes me so happy to know that this story was meaningful to people in some small way. Thank you so much for sticking it out with me :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please come and yell with me about this game, Claudelix, or anything really [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/dustofwarfare)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Leather, Lace, and Knitted Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371699) by [justfe3hthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfe3hthings/pseuds/justfe3hthings)
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